


By Only A Flicker

by isnt_it_pretty



Series: From the Ashes [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: ALL THE HURT/COMFORT, Alternate Universe - Ishbalan | Ishvalan, Gen, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Ishbalan | Ishvalan Alphonse Elric, Ishbalan | Ishvalan Edward Elric, Mental Health Issues, Parental Roy Mustang, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Roy Mustang needs a hug, Sickfic, so do the boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25041958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isnt_it_pretty/pseuds/isnt_it_pretty
Summary: Five months post Ishval and Roy is... struggling. A walk through East City on a rainy autumn evening changes things forever when he comes across a group of men attacking a pair of defenseless siblings.
Relationships: Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric & Roy Mustang, Edward Elric & Roy Mustang
Series: From the Ashes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813591
Comments: 123
Kudos: 678





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I got watching fmab recently and then got inspired by all the Ishvalan Ed & Al aus out there. This fic will be about ten chapters, give or take, and will be updated weekly. This fic will probably end up around 20k words total. I have a few other fics planned for this au, lovingly dubbed From the Ashes. 
> 
> I'm also looking for a beta reader is anybody is interested. 
> 
> My tumblr is isnt-it-pretty.tumblr.com and my discord is Canadeath#1368
> 
> I changed the names of Ed and Al, although I kept the inspiration. Their father is still hoho, but their mother was Ishvalan.
> 
> TW for discussion of abuse, homeless kids, alcohol abuse, ptsd, and generally a shitty time.
> 
> (Also if you're here to bug me about not update another one of my works, please know I'll get there!)

Rain drizzled from the overcast, autumn sky, a cold breeze blowing through the streets of East City. The sidewalks were near empty, with just the occasional pedestrian making their way quickly to whatever warm shelter they had waiting for them.

Roy had no such place. Or rather, he did, he just had no desire to  _ be _ there. Even walking through the start of what would later turn into a freezing downpour wasn’t enough to deter him from his wandering. 

Being inside was just... too much. Too many soldiers dressed in the blue uniform of Amestris, too much to remember.

It had been five months since Ishval, but it still haunted his dreams. Some days, like today, even being around his own people was too much. He still heard gunfire every time he closed his eyes, still felt the heat of his flames and smelled the scent of burning flesh, all sweltering beneath the sweltering desert sun. 

At least the cold rain grounded him. It held him to reality, even through the cacophony of screams from a thousand burning children, flesh bubbling and melting from their blackening bones.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself against a wall as he tried to shake the fragrance from his mind. Fuck.

The best thing Roy could do at that point would be go for a drink. But if he came into work hungover _ again _ , Hawkeye would call Hughes, and Hughes would worry. He  _ really _ didn’t want to deal with the concerned wavering of his friend’s voice. The fear, like the last time Hughes had found Roy, passed out in a pile of his own vomit from trying to drown the nightmares haunting him every time he closed his eyes.

It was different from when they’d drank during their days in the military academy. Back when they were full of optimism and naivety. Back before the war crushed every part of their souls. Hughes at least seemed to recover well enough. He had Gracia, bless that woman, and they were expecting their first child in just a matter of months. Well, at least one of his academy friends had a bright future ahead of them. 

The rain was getting harder, and Roy knew that he should find shelter soon, but through his apathy Roy couldn’t bring himself to care. So instead, he continued aimlessly walking through the winding streets. 

Shops were closing as evening drew near, and it wasn’t until somebody purposely bumped into his shoulder that Roy realized he had wandered closer to the slums than he felt comfortable with. Closer to the  _ Ishvalan _ slums. The area around him was run down, shops and houses clumped close together, the brick worn down from years of enduring weather. The alleyways were tight, suffocating even. In fact, the entire street would likely be suffocating, if not for the few amount of people out. 

The city was old, but not the dirt buildings and tents of the proper slums. Even the poorest of Amestrians lived a better quality of life than the poverty of Ishvalan refugees. 

Roy should turn back, he knew he should. His alchemy would be useless in the rain, and while sometimes he cared a gun (which he hadn’t even grabbed when he’d left), he wasn’t nearly as good of a shot as Hawkeye. So, for once in his life, Roy did the smart thing. 

Or rather, he was about to.

Turning around, he had only taken a few steps before he heard a sharp cry from a nearby alleyway, abruptly cut off. It sounded young, like a  _ child. _ It took Roy a moment to process what he’d heard. There was nothing saying that it wasn’t just a figment of his tortured imagination, nothing to say it was real. 

But, a child.

He took off in the direction of the sound, hoping to find nothing but his slipping sanity. It was an odd hope, but between constant exhaustion and borderline paranoia, Roy wouldn’t be surprised to find he’d gone mad. Fuck, he should’ve just gone for a drink.

As he moved through the back alley, he heard more sounds. Shuttered crying, a young voice pleading in words he couldn’t make out. Laughter. 

_ Fuck. _

Rushing, Roy turned a corner within the maze of back streets, not far from where he had been standing on the main road. Rain pattered across tin roofs, slicking the street with water.

The first thing he saw was a group of Amestrian men, dressed in poor quality clothing, and laughing. Next, he saw a struggling child. The kid looked like he was screaming, pleading behind the hand over his mouth. He was held back by one of the men, sobbing. It wasn’t that however, which brought Roy up short. It was his skin of desert brown, and hair a blonde so light it was near white. From where he stood, he couldn’t see the kid’s eyes, but Roy had no doubt they were Ishvalan red.

A sharp cry drew his attention abruptly to the ground, and Roy noticed another child. This one, who seemed just as small, just as  _ starved, _ as the one, was curled on the ground, holding himself close. The only other thing Roy could tell from a glance was his almost-white hair, semi soaked in blood.

He stood frozen, until one of the men landed a kick against the boy. 

“Ishvalan scum!”

The one held back  _ screamed,  _ as if he had been the one kicked.

Roy stepped forward without thinking, and slipped his glove onto his hand. He may not be able to use it in the rain, but the men didn’t necessarily know that. Besides, as much as he’d love to take them into custody, the lack of reaction by the kid on the ground from that last kick, partnered with the blood being washed away by the steadily heaving rain, didn’t bode well.

“What’s going on here?” Roy’s voice was calm, but carried the practiced weight of authority to it. He was thankful it didn’t shake.

The men stopped and glanced toward him, while the red eyed child looked up at him with an expression full of desperate hope.

Roy tried his best to ignore the look of anguish when the boy recognized him.

One of the group opened his mouth to speak, only to catch the symbol on Roy’s glove before smirking. The man took a confident step toward him.

“Just finishing your great work, Flame Alchemist,” he said, with a flourished bow. 

The group laughed, the kid on the ground still wasn’t moving. 

Roy’s fingers twitched, and he took a steadying breath. He was in East City, not Ishval. He was here to help these kids, not kill them. The look of desperation in the red eyed child’s face was not him pleading for his life against flames he knew would come,  _ probably _ . The child on the ground was not put there by a bullet from one of his men.

“Would you like to join?” the same man asked again, his blue eyes dancing with amusement. As if he expected Roy to agree.

They thought he would _ agree _ .

“Let the kid go and get the fuck out of here before I burn you to nothing but charred bones and  _ ash _ .” He spat the words, letting each one carry the weight of his anger and hatred. Not to the Ishvalan children, not even at these men - as much as he truly did hate them - but at himself. For perpetrating a society where people thought that was okay. Where people thought he would condone it. And why wouldn’t they? He had the second highest casualty count of all the State Alchemists, beat only by Kimblee, the Crimson Alchemist. What did that say about him?

The men stood in front of him for a moment. Their faces a mix of surprise and hesitancy. As if they honestly hadn’t thought he would oppose them.

Roy raised his gloved hand.

As expected, the men dropped the boy and took off sprinting down one of the alleys. They didn’t know he couldn’t create a spark in the rain. 

Roy tried his best to remember their appearance. Maybe if  _ he _ reported the attack, somebody would care. It felt overly optimistic though. Likely, he would be met with the assurance from police that it would be looked into, before the report was thrown in the trash as soon as he looked away.

“Edom!” the conscious child screamed as soon as he was released. He ran to the side of the other boy, his hands hovering over the form, tears openingly falling. “No no no, please, please no-” he looked up at Roy, face flushed with sobs. “Please... I know you’re... please help us.”

Roy was moving before he’d even processed what was said.

It was hard to feel for a pulse in the rain, and through his own quickly beating heart. He had to take a deep breath and remind him that this wasn’t Ishval. 

He couldn’t tell if the boy was breathing.

Carefully as possible, Roy palpated along the child’s vertebrae. He could remember his first aid instructor shouting  _ don’t move them, _ but if they kid couldn’t breathe-

He didn’t feel anything to indicate a spinal injury.  _ Probably. _

“We need to roll him over,” Roy told the frantic boy, “Can you sit here?” He positioned the boy, and placed his hands against the other’s head. “Try to keep it in that position while I turn him. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded, and to his credit managed to get himself under control enough that he would actually be able to help.

As carefully as possible, Roy rolled the unconscious child over.

He, like the other, was dressed in rags. They would do nothing to protect him from the chill of the autumn rain - not as torn and worn as they were. His hair was matted with dirt and blood, both of which were splattered across the boy's visible skin. One the right arm of his shirt, and left pant leg, were both tied up and out of the way. 

This kid, god he was only a  _ child, _ was missing two limbs. 

Roy felt ill at the sight, and couldn’t help but wonder if he’d find burn scars beneath the thin cloth. His hands froze for a moment, unable to continue. It took a moment, but he shook it off. There wasn’t any time to freeze up over a  _ maybe. _ No time to grieve the fact that these very children could have been injured by him.

It was relatively easy to check for breathing and a pulse with the boy on his back. Roy felt a rush of relief when he found it, however weak and thready it may have been. A pulse meant he was alive, and that meant there was hope.

The other boy was still bracing the unconscious one’s head, but he was bent over where he crouched. Their foreheads were almost touching as he whispered words Roy didn’t know, but thought may have sounded like a prayer.

If Ishvala was real, Roy hoped he was damned to hell.

“He’s alive,” he tried to assure the child, leaving out that he didn’t know how long it would last. There was blood on the side of his mouth, being washed away by the rain. Did he bite the inside of his mouth? Or was there some kind of internal bleeding?  _ Fuck. _ This is why he had become a soldier, not a doctor.

Carefully and quickly, Roy ran his hands along the boy’s body, checking for blood and other injuries. 

Laceration on his head, along with a bump, explaining the blood in his hair. Head wounds always bled a lot. Swollen ribs, probably broken. Same with his left wrist, which looked like it had been stomped on.

He stifled the anger. The nearest hospital was still a way from where they were. Nobody cared about those living just a step above poverty, and cared even less about those in it.

“He still needs help,” Roy said. “I’ll be right back, okay? Just stay here with him, keep his head still.” If it turned out there was a spinal injury, they didn’t need it to get any worse.

He waited until the boy nodded, before spiriting to the nearest telephone booth. He’d passed it on the walk, back on the main street.

After the operator connected him with emergency services, Roy explained as quickly as he could who he was  _ State Alchemist, Colonel Roy Mustang,  _ and the situation.  _ Two children were attacked, one is unconscious and heavily injured. _ He neglected to mention that the children were Ishvalan.

Giving his location wasn’t easy, considering he wasn’t very familiar with the area, and didn’t know how to describe where he had been. It took several moments before he was sure he had described it well enough. He hung up, and rushed back to the boys.

The conscious one still held the other’s head, still sobbed and whispered Ishvalan words, sprinkled with a few in Amestrian. 

“Edom,” he sobbed, which Roy gathered was the other boy’s name.

“Help is coming.”

The boy looked up, eyes wide. His breathing was quick, near hyperventilating with panic. “You came back,” he said surprised, even as he gasped for air. 

Roy frowned, but didn’t say anything else. Instead, he knelt on the wet stone and felt for a pulse again, still there, and checked his breathing, which was weak.

“What’s your name?” he asked the child, if only to keep him from having a panic attack, although he supposed it was a little late for that. 

The boy looked at him, and glanced toward the glove still covering Roy’s hand.

He’d already suspected the kid knew who he was, but that look of inherent distrust was enough to prove it. 

The boy did know who the Flame Alchemist was. After a moment, desperation seemed to overrule whatever fear he would have otherwise had.

“Al,” he said quietly. A nickname then. That was alright.

He tried his best to smile. “Hello Al, I’m Roy” he nodded to the other boy. “Is he your friend?”

“Brother.” 

Roy supposed one word answers were better than none. He couldn’t blame the kic, Al, for being wary. 

“Where are your parents?” he regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth. These weren’t regular children. “I mean,” he corrected himself before Al could give him the answer that they both knew, but neither wanted to say. “Do you have anyone looking after you? Anyone we should make sure is told about your brother?”

Al shook his head, and looked away.

Orphans then. Not even one of the few lucky enough to be taken in by one of the surviving adults. Fuck, he needed a drink.

The sound of an ambulance kept them from settling into an awkward silence, which Roy was beyond grateful for. 

Within just a few minutes, the alleyway had several paramedics within it, tending to the child. One scoffed when he saw the boys’ appearance, only to be met with a glare from Roy.

At the mention of two injured children, two ambulances had responded. Something he was thankful for. He hadn’t thought to ask whether Al was injured, although he didn’t think the boy would have answered anyway. He seemed too concerned for the state of his brother.

Roy considered leaving them in the care of professionals, but the looks they were getting shot that idea down. Until they were safe, Roy wasn’t about to walk away. Not when without him there, they’d be receiving subpar care. 

Instead, he found the most professional of them, and told him everything he had learned from his preemptive check. The man nodded in thanks, and quietly asked if he was planning on staying, only confirming Roy’s fears that the children would be treated unfairly, even when in such dire circumstances. When he nodded, the man looked relieved enough that it caused a flare of anger to course through him. 

The unconscious boy, who his brother had called  _ Edom,  _ was loaded into the back of one of the ambulances, while Al went into the other, however desperately he wanted to stay with his family. Roy nodded to the paramedics as he climbed in after him.

Al looked confused for a moment as to why Roy was there.

“I want to make sure you and your brother are treated fairly,” he answered before the boy could ask.

The look of distrust made him crave a drink even stronger. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! And welcome back to By Only a Flicker! 
> 
> This chapter has been editted by my amazing beta reader @controlofchaos here on ao3! He has been wonderful, so make sure you give him a huge thanks as well!
> 
> This chapter includes one of my favourite character, Hughes.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, the next chapter will be posted next friday!

The wait was probably one of the most awkward situations Roy had ever been in. Which was really saying something, considering the amount of awkward shit he’d gotten into in his life. 

He, the Flame Alchemist, the Hero _(slaughterer)_ of Ishval, was sitting in an uncomfortable hospital room chair, just feet away from an Ishvalan child. 

The boy wouldn’t look at him, now that his brother was in the care of doctors. Undergoing surgery for internal bleeding. 

In the meantime, Al curled in on himself. He held his knees to his chest, whispering prayers over and over. Roy recognized some of the words.

It had been two hours when Al finally broke the silence.

“Why did you help us?” he asked, looking up suddenly. It was as though the thought had just occurred to him, which it may very well have.

“I— What?” It was a fair question Roy supposed. But that didn’t make it any less hard to hear the genuine confusion in the young boy’s voice, barely masked by suspicion. 

“You’re the Flame Alchemist. You fought in Ishval. You— Why would you help us?” 

There was something unsettling about the boy’s gaze. It was piercing. 

Roy took in an unsteady breath. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to explain to this child, this survivor of war — a war he fought in, _killed_ in — that he was sorry? That he regretted it? His guilt meant nothing. It could not bring back those this kid had loved and lost. It couldn’t bring back his brother’s limbs, or their parents, or home. It couldn’t put meat on emaciated bones. It couldn’t deafen the sound of death and destruction Roy heard every moment, or soften the glares hospital staff gave them both. 

Al kept looking at him, still waiting for an answer that Roy didn’t know how to give. “Because you needed help,” he settled on.

It felt inadequate, but what other answer could he give? His hands were shaking with barely contained panic, nausea bubbling in his stomach. Fuck, if there was one thing Roy recognized, it was the start of a panic attack. Fuck fuck _fuck_. 

“I— I’ll be right back,” he stuttered out, staggering from his seat. _Coward coward coward, leaving a kid alone while the only family he has left could be dying, dying because you killed the rest, you killed them you killed them youkilledthem—_

“My apologies,” he flashed a barely held together smile at the nurse seated behind the shift desk, “but do you have a pay phone?”

It was evening. Maes would be home fussing over Gracia, hopefully. The nurse pointed him toward the payphone, and suddenly Roy was there, the phone ringing in his hand. When had he dialed? He didn’t know, but he couldn’t breathe. _He couldn’t breathe._ He closed his eyes, tried not to focus on the echoes of bullets and explosions that didn’t fit with the sterile white halls.

“Hello?” Maes answered, and Roy felt himself let out a breath. Maes was there, he was safe, he was—

“Maes,” he forced out. His breathing was too quick, too shallow, something he knew his friend would pick up on.

“Roy?” his voice was calm. “Is everything okay?”

“Maes,” Roy’s voice stuttered, breathing too quickly to force proper sentences. “Maes I can’t—”

There was a breath on the other side of the line. “”Okay, Roy, I need you to tell me where you are. Just breath, okay? Where are you?”

One question at a time. Maes had learned long ago how to talk people through a panic attack.

“Hospital.”

“Okay,” Maes said something muffled, which must have been to Gracia. Roy tried his best to keep his focus on his friend’s voice. His friend who had always been there. Been there back in his academy days, been there through Ishval and after. Been there through hell and back. “Sorry, back. Roy, are you hurt?”

He shook his head before realizing Maes couldn’t hear it. At any other point, he may have felt embarrassed by it. “No... No, I'm fine. I just—” he tried to breathe, but it caught in his throat.

“Is somebody else hurt?” Bless Maes and his endless patience. 

“Yes. I mean, no, but yes.”

“Roy,” Maes said softly. “That was almost frustratingly vague. If you can’t explain right now, that’s okay, but I need to know if everybody is safe, okay?”

Roy wasn’t sure how to answer that. From a logical standpoint, he knew Maes meant their friends. Roy’s team. He let out a fast, shaky breath, and answered what he knew his friend was asking. “Yes.”

There was barely masked relief in Maes’ voice. If it had been anybody but him, Roy doubted they would have even noticed. “Okay, thank you. Just breathe, okay?”

He wanted until Roy did as he said, before continuing. 

“What do you need?”

It had always been a difficult question to answer, because Roy simply didn’t _know_ what he needed. He needed to breathe again, needed the nightmares to stop, needed his mistakes to stop staring at him in the waiting room of a fucking hospital.

“Just— Just talk.”

If there was one thing Roy knew Maes was good at, it was that. 

Sure enough, his friend did. He jumped into long rambling stories about his wife. About how the doctor said her pregnancy was healthy, what colour they were going to paint the nursery, the baby shower they were going to have in a couple months.

He spoke for a few minutes, until Roy’s breathing had calmed back to a semi normal rate, if still a bit unsteady. It wasn't desperate gasping anymore, which was definitely a step up in Roy’s opinion. After all, he didn’t feel like he was going to pass out anymore. 

“Are you okay Roy?” Maes asked, worry threading back into his voice as he wound down the one-sided conversation. 

“I found some kids. Brothers,” he said in a way of answering. “They were being attacked by a group of men. One of them was being held back, while the others assaulted his brother.”

“Jeez, are they okay?”

“I don’t know. Still waiting for news on the hurt one. I—” he took a shaky breath. “Normally I’d leave it, let the hospital call their parents and everything but— They’re Ishvalan, Maes.”

Maes cursed on the other end. Roy just continued. “The men thought I’d want to _help_ them. That I’d think it was funny they were attacking defenseless children! The one they were kicking...he was missing _limbs_ , Maes. An arm and leg. I didn’t look, I couldn’t. I didn’t see any burn scars but I couldn’t bring myself to look.” His breathing was speeding up again. _It was my fault. It was my fault it was my fault itwasmyfault—_

“Roy, listen to me. Breathe, okay?” Maes coached him through it. “Just breathe, come on, with me.” His breath was overexaggerated and easy to follow, definitely on purpose, but Roy appreciated it. “Do you want to call Hawkeye? She could meet you there.”

“No, no I’m alright.” _I’ll worry her too much._ “I just- It was too much for a moment. He asked me why I helped them, and what was I supposed to say? I'm sorry? It just... There wasn’t anything that I could have said.”

“How old are they?” There was something in Maes' voice that Roy couldn’t place.

“I don’t know. Not super young, but not teenagers yet. Maybe nine or ten?” He let out a pained sigh. “I don’t even know if his brother is going to survive or not. He was really rough, Maes.”

There was a sympathetic noise on the other end of the line. “Okay, how's this? Go get the kid something to eat, he’s probably hungry, and food helps more things than it doesn’t. Something filling, and something else sweet. Like a sandwich and juice or a cookie or something. Then talk to the nurses. Pull station, flirt your way through, whatever. See what information you can get. I’m guessing they’re orphans?” At Roy’s confirming noise, he continued. “I’ll make some calls, see what I can find out about places willing to take them. It's a long shot Roy, but maybe somebody would be willing to step up if a colonel was to drop them off. But first, start with food. For both the kid and you, because I’m guessing you haven’t eaten yet.”

“I...alright. Thank you, Maes.”

“Any time.”

Finding food wasn’t hard. He picked up a few different types of sandwiches. Filling and easy to eat, along with a bottle of juice, and a bag of cookies. The kid could have his pick, he looked like he needed as many calories as he could get.

Breathing deeply, Roy re-entered the waiting room, finding Al in the same place he’d left him. Tear tracks were still fresh on the boy’s face. 

“Here,” Roy told him as he thrust the bag at the boy. “Eat as much as you want. I’m going to go try to figure out what I can about your brother.”

It took much more effort to find any information than it usually would have. Roy could only assume that it was due to the kid’s ethnicity. Fuck, this entire thing was a mess. Eventually, he managed to speak to the head nurse who told him that the boy, Edom, was still in surgery, but once it’s finished a doctor would be out to speak to him. 

He knew usually it wouldn’t happen. He wasn’t the kids’ guardian, just a stranger who happened upon a terrible scenario; however without a legal guardian, and taking into account his military status, the hospital had apparently decided he was good enough to make decisions. No pressure or anything.

Al seemed relieved to hear that everything was going well.

About forty minutes later, a frazzled doctor stepped into the waiting room. Her red hair was tied up in a bun, not all that dissimilar to how Hawkeye put hers up at work. The doctor’s eyes scanned the room, rather than calling out a name. When her eyes fell on Al, it wasn’t hard to guess why. 

Walking over, she addressed the two of them. “Are you here for Edom?” Her voice was soft and kind, something Roy was glad for. He was reminded that Al had been the one to fill out his brother's medical forms, and although Roy had heard him shout his brother’s name, it had yet to click that he knew it.

“Is my brother okay?” Al asked immediately.

Roy tried not to sigh. “Yes, we are.”

She smiled sweetly at Al, not even in a condescending way. Thank everything that she didn’t _seem_ to mind their Ishvalan heritage. 

“My name is Dr. Kennedy, I’m a doctor specializing in traumatic injuries, like the ones your brother came in with,” she spoke mostly to Al, with glances toward Roy to make sure he was listening. “Edom—”

“Ed,” Al corrected, “he likes Ed more.”

“Thank you for letting me know. I’ll be sure to remember that.” Her voice showed no frustration. “Ed had a lot of injuries when he was brought in, and he needed surgery to help them, which is why it’s taken so long to speak with you two. But he’s better now. He’s just being moved into a room, and he’s still asleep right now, but you can see him if you’d like.”

Al was tearing up as he nodded, relief clear on his features as his hands twisted in the material of the ratty shirt he wore. 

“Alright. But I should warn you, it may look scary. There’s a lot of machines around him, but they’re just there to help us keep an eye on him, and make sure everything is okay.” 

When Al nodded, she guided them out of the waiting room and into the twisting hallways of the hospital.

Roy went with them to the room, following the doctor until they arrived in the ICU. He frowned as they moved into the ward. It wasn’t exactly surprising, considering the state that the kid was in when he found him, but still unfortunate. 

They arrived at a door, and Dr. Kennedy smiled softly before opening it.

There were a few other people in the room, although curtains separated the beds enough that Roy couldn’t get a good look at any other patients, not that he exactly cared about them.

At the far end of the room, Edom, or Ed rather, was settled in a bed. There were various tubes and machines hooked up to him that Roy, unfortunately, recognized. He’d been in the same position enough times.

Al let out a relieved sob at the sight of his brother, and rushed to his side. Ed’s arm was in a cast, but that didn’t stop his brother from holding his hand across his body. He immediately started speaking in Ishvalan, whispering words through his tears as he ran a hand through Ed’s matted hair, mindful of the bandages.

“Colonel,” the doctor said, “may we have a word?”

He glanced up at her and noticed how her expression had changed a little. While talking to Al, she had remained soft and sweet, but looking only at Roy, she appeared more serious. He nodded and after letting Al know, the two of them stepped out into the hallway.

“This is a difficult situation, Colonel,” she began quietly. “Two Ishvalan children, with no parent to advocate for them, leaves them in an especially vulnerable situation for malpractice and discrimination.”

“I know,” he responded in an equally quiet tone. “It’s why I’m here.”

She nodded, and sighed. “His condition is...not great. He’ll survive, but his organs are bruised, and his ribs and arm are broken, Likely from being kicked and stomped on. His head wound looks worse than it is thankfully, but the reality of the situation is that he’s severely malnourished, underweight, and exhausted. The risk of infection is high because his body can’t fight off any external stressors right now, like you or I would be able to. We’re keeping him sedated right now, which is why he’s in this ward, but that won't last forever. The weather is getting colder, and even if it's more mild here than it tends to be in Central or North City, I don’t have much faith in his body’s ability to hold out over the winter months.”

It wasn’t exactly news to him, but it still ached to hear it. Worse, knowing how little he could actually do for them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow late update today. I want to apologize for not getting this up last week, I had an eye infection that made rereading and editing a mess.
> 
> Thank you beta reader @controlofchaos here on ao3

Edom, _Ed,_ looked bad.

He was so small, something Roy had noticed before, but hadn’t been able to comprehend until that moment. Roy could probably fit his entire hand around the circumference of Ed’s arm, all the way up to his shoulder. It was the same with Al. These kids were _bones._

Al sat in a chair pulled up next to his brother’s bed, and Roy settled standing against the wall behind him.

Over the course of the next few hours, he managed to coax some information out of an extremely reluctant Al. His full name was Alphaeus Ehrlich, he was ten years old. His brother Edom was eleven. 

He didn’t talk about what happened to his parents, or Ed’s limbs. Roy didn’t ask.

Instead, Roy tried his best to keep his mind from wandering to the ruined streets of Ishvalan towns and cities. Tried to avoid thinking about Ishval proper, the city for which the region was named after. 

Even months later, he still can’t eat cooked meat without smelling charred bodies.

“Visiting hours are over,” a stern looking male nurse said, drawing Roy from his thoughts. It was fair he supposed, considering it was after work when he’d found the boys.

He sighed, glancing at Al. “I’ll be back tomorrow after work, just to check in and make sure everything is okay—”

The nurse cut Roy off. “Him too,” he nodded toward Al.

Roy stopped, and turned to look at the man. “That’s his brother.”

He shrugged. “Visiting hours are over, nothing I can do about that.”

Behind the curtain to their left sat another family, who apparently had yet to be bothered.

“They’re orphans. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Not my problem.”

Al was crying again, clinging desperately to his brother.

Roy wanted to argue, and under normal circumstances probably would have, but this wasn’t normal circumstances. He didn’t want to put Ed at any more risk of mistreatment; or get himself and Al kicked out of the hospital, and barred from seeing Ed in the future.

So, Roy did the best he could. He laid a hand on Al’s shoulder. “Come on, you can visit him tomorrow, okay? He probably won't even wake up tonight.” He hadn’t told the kid that they were keeping his brother sedated, just that Ed was tired, and would need a lot of sleep to catch up.

It took some convincing, but he eventually got Al to leave the room. Only to be left with a different problem.

Where could the kid stay? It wasn’t as if he could very well leave him alone on the streets. Even if one of them was missing limbs, both siblings could probably take care of each other better than they could themselves.

He couldn’t leave him in a hotel either. Not without supervision. Al seemed too exhausted to get into trouble, but that didn’t mean he was going to trust that a hotel room wouldn’t get trashed, or that the staff wouldn’t just kick him out upon realizing he was an unaccompanied Ishvalan kid. There was only so much a military title could do.

Sighing, Roy rubbed the bridge of his nose. It seemed he’d have to give Hawkeye a call and let her know he would be unable to come into work the next day. He supposed he could excuse it as him being sick, rather than admitting what was actually going on.

He flagged down a taxi, and motioned for Al to get in it.

“Where are we going?” the boy asked, his voice was far more anxious than it had been in the hospital. He was hesitant to get into the vehicle. 

“My house. I have a spare room, and it's warm and dry.” The fatigue from the day was catching up with Roy. Fuck he really needed some sleep. And the bottle of whiskey he had stored in the top of his cupboard. 

Al took half a step back, and glared at him as hard as he could. Which, considering he was four foot nothing, wasn’t very hard. Still, the way those red eyes looking at him, laced with what Roy desperately hoped wasn’t fear, reminded him too much of the things he was trying to forget. “I appreciate you being kind to me, but I won’t lay under you.”

It took far longer than Roy would ever care to admit for the meaning of the words to sink in, and even longer to think past the mind numbing shock of what he heard. The fact that they had likely been offered something like... like _that_ from people, in exchange for help, made him want to vomit. Fuck, he hoped neither of them had taken anybody up on it. Hoped they were never that desperate for whatever those monsters had offered.

“Absolutely not!” He couldn’t have kept the sound of disgust out of his voice even if he’d tried, which he hadn’t. “Listen to me. I am helping you because you need it, not because I’m expecting anything from you, especially not _that._ ”

Al, to his credit, looked immensely relieved at that, and nodded in response. He was still tense though, as if he wasn’t entirely sure he believed he wouldn’t get murdered. 

Considering he was going to the home of a mass murderer, Roy couldn’t fault him for that.

Carefully, he climbed into the taxi.

Roy frowned, noticing what looked like a slight limp as he did. The hospital had checked him over, and said that while there would be quite a few bruises, he hadn’t sustained any injuries. 

Shaking his head, Roy promised himself he’d keep an eye on him, and climbed into the taxi after.

The ride to his small brownstone was quiet. It was in a nice area, although that wasn’t why he bought it. The proximity to Eastern Command was what sold him. Besides, he wasn’t home all that often, opting instead preferring to just sleep at the office. Something both Hawkeye and Maes regularly gave him shit for.

He paid the driver and exited the vehicle first, and waited for Al to get out, before starting toward the building. It was two floors, the exterior walls made of brown sandstone. A brick fence with an iron gate blocked off his small front yard.

“Um, Mr. Colonel, sir?” Al asked as he kept close behind him. He did an admirable job keeping his voice from shaking, but Roy still heard the waver beneath his words. 

Roy stopped as he was unlocking the door, and looked down at the kid. “Just Roy is alright for now, but if you’re uncomfortable with that, Colonel or Colonel Mustang is fine.”

Al nodded, hands fisting in his shirt with what must have been a nervous habit. “I was just wondering why you live here, instead of at the command centre. Ed always said that soldiers live there.”

He _hmmed_ as he finished unlocking the door, and stepped inside. Flicking the lights on, he took off his long black jacket, thinking of how to answer the question. 

“I don’t like being around soldiers all the time. It's...difficult for me, some days. So I like to live on my own.”

“If you don’t like being around soldiers, why did you become one?”

Roy laughed a little, it was humourless. “That’s a complicated question, but the short answer is that I didn’t always hate them.” Changing the topic, he continued. “Are you hungry?”

Predictably, Al nodded.

Even if he wasn’t hungry, he’d probably still take the food. Roy had noticed him hiding unfinished leftovers in the pockets of his oversized pants throughout the day, but decided not to mention it. The kid was probably taught that saving food for later was better than eating it all at once, when he didn’t know when his next meal would be.

Guiding him into the kitchen, Roy opened his fridge to find it stocked with mostly beer, a half finished - but thankfully not expired - carton of milk, and some peas, still in their pod. His freezer held some lasagna Gracia had made a couple months ago, when she decided he needed easy, home-cooked food on days he came home from work too exhausted to cook. Which honestly was most days, not that she needed to know that. 

“Uh, how’s cereal?” he knew he had some puffed rice somewhere in a cupboard, he just had to remember which.

Al nodded again, which was good enough for him. Grabbing the milk, cereal, and a bowl, he set it on the table in front of Al. 

“Have as much as you want, okay? I’ll be right back, just gotta make a call.” He waited for another nod in response before heading into the other room. He picked up his phone, and called Hawkeye.

It wasn’t extremely late yet, proven by how she answered the phone on the second ring.

“Hawkeye.” Professional, as always.

“Lieutenant,” he greeted in response.

“Sir. To what do I owe the pleasure this evening?” even in her dry tone, the sarcasm dripped off her tongue. He knew she disliked being called after hours, but sometimes it was necessary. 

Roy sighed, “I’m sorry about this, Lieutenant, but I won’t be able to make it in to work tomorrow, something has come up.”

She was silent for a moment, before concern slipped marginally into her voice. “Is everything alright, sir?”

He glanced through the doorway to see the ten year old eagerly inhaling puffed rice. It was a fair question to ask. He may have slacked off on paperwork occasionally, but the only times he’d missed work were due to injuries. Or the time he drank so much he ended up with alcohol poisoning, and apparently called her slurring about burning bodies. He was glad he didn’t remember that.

“Yes. I just encountered something that needs my attention. I should be back the day after, I just wanted to let you know before I called General Grumman.”

She made a sound to show that she wasn’t exactly convinced, but there wasn’t really anything she could say to that. She’d probably give Mae

s a call though. Roy hoped that his friend wouldn’t tell her.

The situation was complicated enough, without Hawkeye involved. Another Ishvalan war _hero_ wouldn’t help anything.

Talking to Grumman was even easier, the man just told Roy to take care and catch up on some rest. Probably knew about the nightmares, bastard.

Heading back into the kitchen, Al was still eating. Kid was on his third bowl at least, but Roy wasn’t about to comment. If anything, he’d encourage the kid to eat more. What the doctor told him was still repeating in his ears. These kids probably wouldn’t survive the winter out on the streets. At least Maes said he would look into it. If anybody would find somewhere for them, it would be him.

It was only when Al was completely finished that Roy put everything away and showed the kid upstairs. 

The house wasn’t big. The front door led to a hallway, with stairs on the left side. On the opposite the stairs were two doors. One led to a sitting room, complete with an ornamental fireplace. Next to it was the study, which held a mahogany desk covered in the non-classified paperwork he worked on at home and everything he owned related to alchemy. The back of the house, where they were, held a small kitchen and the slightly larger dining room. Upstairs were two bedrooms and a washroom. One bedroom was his, the other a guest room complete with a large bed, soft linen sheets, and an array of blankets. Maes and Madam Christmas had done the actual furnishing, since Roy had been content to sleep on the floor in the weeks following his return home.

Opening the bedroom door, Al’s eyes went large as he stared at the double bed in the center of the room.

“A-are you sure?” he stuttered. “I can sleep on the sofa or-”

“Relax, I rarely use this room,” Roy shrugged. “Most of my friends are in the military, so they have their own places to stay when they’re in town. This house was just the closest to Eastern Command I could get.” He neglected to mention that his nightmares woke up neighbours in apartments. At least they had calmed down in the last couple months.

Al took a hesitant step into the room, and Roy found himself wondering when the last time this child slept on a bed.

“Let me know if you need anything, I’ll go find something for you to sleep in.” He glanced back awkwardly at the washroom across the hall. “You can shower if you want. There should be towels already in there.” He _also_ didn’t mention that the only reason there were towels was because Hawkeye came over to help with his laundry. Fuck, he was hopeless. “I’ll be downstairs working but feel free to come down, or just go to sleep. Whatever you want.”

Eventually, Al gave in and sequestered himself into the small washroom. Roy listened for a moment until the shower turned on, then walked into his bedroom.

His closet was full of clothes he almost never wore, some that hadn’t even fit before Ishval. Somewhere in the back he knew there was a shirt too small for him now. It would still drape off Al’s emaciated form, but it would be comfortable enough to sleep in and, more importantly, it was clean.

Leaving the shirt folded on the bed, Roy headed back downstairs. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a glass from the kitchen before entering his study.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for war shit and implied dead babies in the first section. 
> 
> Well, I hope you're ready for more awkward Roy and bonding with Al.

This place was truly a living hell, Roy thought as he walked across the hot desert sand. The city was falling around him, he could hear the sound of bullets and explosions, could hear the fighting and screaming and death. There was nothing he could do but continue. He snapped his fingers, watched the corpses of more Ishvalans fall at his feet. The scent of death in the air as their flesh bubbled and fell from the bone like overcooked meat. Soon, there would be nothing left but chunks of charred, blackened bones, surrounded by ash.

The scent though, that would never leave. It carried on the wind, clung to his clothes, never dissipating. It was his calling card, his curse. He was the Flame Alchemist, he razed cities and destroyed families. There could be no escape from the suffering he inflicted. Everybody he met could smell death upon him like the plague he was. An incarnation of massacre.

He tries not to vomit as he wonders why he ever thought he could do good by doing evil. He thinks, if Ishvala is real, then Roy deserves to be damned to the abyss. Deserves all the pain and punishments and suffering the God of Ishvala can inflict upon him. 

He looks down,  _ sees _ the blood on his hands, feels it sticky and hot. He tries to wipe it off, but all it does is stain his clothes. The blood can never be removed. 

It's flooded all around him, he's drowning in it. The charred corpses of those slaughtered at his hand watch him as he chokes on their blood. Even as he thrashes, desperate for air, all they do is watch him die. Like he watched them. What a fitting end.

And then he’s standing alone, an empty street. It's hot, the wind barely enough to cool his skin, even though none of it shows. Amestrian military uniforms were not meant to handle this kind of heat.

There’s a cry up ahead, and his feet find their way to the group of Ishvalan refugees. Innocent people, women and children.  _ Children. _ A young woman sobs, holding her baby close. It’s swaddled in an old blanket, dyed shades of red and black and worn from use. How many generations of infants had been held in it? How much love was put into repairing it, and passing it onto the next generation? 

How quickly would it burn?

One of the children looks up at him, red eyes wide.  _ Al’s  _ eyes.

He raises his hand and snaps.

* * *

Roy woke with a jolt, and is out of bed before he even realized it.

He barely made it to the toilet before he found himself vomiting, the remnants of his dream clinging to him like rain. He still hasn’t gotten used to the scent of burning flesh.

The thought makes him heave again.

After a few minutes, he’s finally able to lean back. He rested against the wall and closed his eyes. Apparently drinking himself into oblivion wasn’t quite enough to keep the nightmares at bay. Unsurprising considering he had an Ishvalan orphan, covered in  _ burns _ no less, sleeping in his guest room.

Fuck, he hoped he hadn’t woken the kid up, but knowing his luck he probably did.

Breathing deeply, Roy pushed himself up. He flushed the toilet and splashed some cold water on his face. So much for sleeping.

Eventually, he ended up in the study again, nursing another glass of whiskey. He debated calling Hughes, or maybe Hawkeye, but it was 3am, and neither would appreciate being woken up. Even if they often told him that it was no trouble, no burden, Roy never quite believed them.

After a few minutes, he heard hesitant footsteps slowly descending the stairs.

Damn, the poor kid was probably terrified. He couldn’t really imagine the anxiety of staying in a murderer’s house. Bringing Al there was a mistake. Maybe he should have just dealt with it and stuck him in a hotel, consequences be damned. It probably would’ve been easier on the kid.

A moment later, a pair of anxious red eyes peered around the corner.

He was absolutely drowning in the shirt, which despite the kid’s age and Roy’s relatively small stature was enough to hang off one shoulder. 

“Sorry,” Roy said, as softly as possible. Being gentle wasn’t something he was good at. His hands were made for killing, his voice for barking orders. Neither of those were helpful when comforting a scared kid. “Did I wake you?”

Al shook his head, but didn’t move from where he was standing, half hidden behind the wall. It took him a moment to speak. “I was already awake, but um, I heard you being sick and wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

This fucking kid. Concerned about the wellbeing of the man who murdered his people. Goddamn Al was a better person than almost anyone Roy had ever met.

“Ah.” An awkward silence settled between them before Roy broke it. “I’m alright, but thanks.”

After a few minutes, Al took a hesitant step into the room, as if scared he would get scolded. 

“Are...are those books about alchemy?” His eyes had fallen on some of his texts about the subject. Nothing on flame alchemy of course, but on topics he wasn’t as familiar with and a few of the basic theses given to him by his mentor.

“Yes,” Roy knew enough about Ishvalan religion to know how they felt about alchemy. He wondered what Al was thinking about it.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to wonder for long.

“My dad was an alchemist.”

Roy blinked in surprise. “An Ishvalan?” 

Al only shook his head. “Amestrian. My mom was Ishvalan.”

Looking at him now, Roy noticed how his hair wasn’t exactly white, like most Ishvalan people. Instead, it was a very light blonde. His skin was a couple shades lighter too. Come to think of it, his older brother was paler than most of his people, even paler than Al. Roy had disregarded that information on the assumption that it was illness and blood loss, but perhaps it was more to do with an Amestrian father. His hair as well was slightly more blonde.

“My brother and I used to read our dad’s old books, after he left.” Al shifted his foot against the ground. “We had to keep it a secret, but my mom was really happy when we showed her our transmutations. She said Ishvala gifted us the ability to create… I— Ed doesn’t like it anymore. Alchemy, I mean.”

Roy tried his best not to cringe at that, but he wasn’t quite sure he succeeded. It was no surprise that the older of the two lost any interest he once had after witnessing what State Alchemists had done. It was more of a wonder Al didn’t seem to feel the same way.

“You can read?” he asked instead. 

Al only nodded.

Glancing back at his collection, Roy bit his lip. His eyes scanned titles as he looked for one in particular. It was an old copy of beginners alchemy that he had kept purely out of nostalgia, rather than practical use. Perhaps it would get some use yet. 

He hoped the kids’ mother was right — that he wasn’t about to damn them with him. Grabbing the book from the shelf, he turned to Al, and held it out. “Would you like to read one?”

The kid’s eyes lit up, and some of the nervousness left his body as he stepped forward, eyes trained steadily on the book. He was hesitant to take it, but happy enough when it was in his hands. 

Roy opened the double door between his study and the sitting room and turned on the light. After some encouragement, Al settled on one of the couches — he had definitely not stolen from his aunt’s bar when he moved out — and opened the old book.

It was almost amusing to watch how enthralled the kid was with alchemy. 

A couple hours later, Roy glanced up to see Al with an intense look on his face, he was muttering words too quiet for him to hear.

“Everything okay?” he asked despite himself.

Al jumped, his eyes full of fear for a moment as he glanced toward him.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Just some, um, difficult parts.”

Roy made a noise of understanding, and stood from his desk. He’d managed to get some paperwork done, and his two glasses of whiskey, successfully dampening the worst of his nightmare. He tried to make himself as unassuming as possible as he walked toward the kid, crouching down next to him.

“Which parts?”

Al blinked in surprise, before showing him.

As it turned out, it was a few words he didn’t know. Although the kid could read, he was apparently better in Ishvalan, which Roy supposed was fair. He didn’t know the equivalent to the terms, but did his best to explain them, along with a couple of the other concepts that seemed to be confusing him.

Al soaked it all in like a sponge, eagerly latching onto anything Roy said about alchemy. It was as if he easily forgot exactly who he was speaking to in the face of learning.

What this kid could do if only he had been handed a better lot in life. As it was, he’d be lucky to survive long enough to even get a shitty job, with long hours of hard, dangerous labour that paid shit. The kind of work no Amestrian would want to lower themselves to. But the desperate were always willing to put themselves at risk for basic necessities, like food and shelter.

Going back to his own work, Roy kept an eye on the kid. He answered a few more questions from where he sat, before he noticed a long stretch of silence, not even marked by the pages of the book.

Looking up, he noticed that Al had fallen asleep, his hand still on the open book.

Carefully as possible, Roy walked over and gently pulled the book from the child’s grasp. He bookmarked the page before putting it on a nearby table. Not about to try and carry the kid upstairs — he wouldn’t do that at the best of times, but especially not when said child was terrified of him since he  _ literally slaughtered his people _ — Roy grabbed a folded blanket from a chest, throwing it over the kid’s sleeping form. 

At the very least  _ one _ of them would get some rest.

* * *

Two days later, Ed woke up.

It was evening. He had taken to dropping Al off at the hospital in the morning before heading into work. So far, Hughes had no luck finding a place for the brothers to go. Nobody was interested in taking in two Ishvalan orphans, one of whom was missing two limbs. 

Hawkeye was concerned about him, he could tell from the way she hovered around him during work hours. He knew he looked like shit. The nightmares had been worse. The drinking too. But answering late night questions about beginners alchemy was strangely grounding.

Al, to his credit, did seem  _ a little _ more comfortable around Roy. Easily asking questions easier, and not looking as much like Roy was about to snatch away his food. Although he couldn’t help but notice the growing amount of snacks shoved into the pockets of the kid’s wrecked clothing.

It was evening when he visited, bringing Al some pasta he picked up from a street vendor. He hadn’t gotten any for himself, not wanting to risk throwing it up, but the kid didn’t need to know that.

In the bed, Ed groaned, and suddenly the food was forgotten. 

Roy could tell it was taking all of Al’s willpower not to climb onto the bed, instead he firmly clung to his brother's singular arm. It was wrapped in a heavy cast.

“Ed!”

“Al?” his brother responded, groggy and exhausted.

It took a few moments, but eventually he managed to force his eyes open. 

The first thing Roy noticed was the colour. He’d assumed they were red, same as his brother’s, but they weren’t. Rather, they were a warm, honey gold. 

Immediately, Al jumped into speaking in Ishvalan. Roy could pick out a few words here and there, but his knowledge of the language was severely limited, not to mention how quick the boy was speaking. Tears fell from his eyes as he spoke.

Ed reached up with his casted arm and tried his best to stroke Al’s hair. It didn’t exactly work, but the boy seemed to appreciate it if the relieved sob that escaped him was anything to go by.

Al said something else, and Roy recognized the words for home, and flame.

Ed’s eyes suddenly snapped toward him, and he could guess what was said. 

“What do you want from us?” the boy asked, in near perfect Amestrian, just like his brother. It made sense, knowing that they probably encountered the language from their father.

“Nothing,” Roy answered calmly, suppressing the urge to cross his arms. Unassuming was the goal here, the intimidation that moved bureaucrats wasn’t going to help now.

“You’re the Flame Alchemist and what? Just decided to help out from poor Ishvalan orphans out of the goodness of your heart?” Ed spat. “Bullshit.”

“Brother!” Al said, slightly frantic. “I told you, he’s been kind!”

“Kind?” Ed let out a bitter laugh. “Just like he was kind when he massacred our people and drenched our land in blood?”

Al didn’t have a response to that. To be fair, neither did Roy.

“We aren’t a charity case to make you look better,” Ed snapped, turning his attention back. “Not some sob story for you to benefit off of.”

“That isn’t it,” Roy tried to explain, but he had a feeling it would be futile. What could he say? Sorry I killed your people, it was under orders? “You needed help, you’re just kids.”

The glare he received was  _ withering. _ “Oh, so  _ now _ you care about Ishvalan children, but not back when you were burning us alive?”

He didn’t have a response.

“Get the fuck out.”

When Roy returned to the room a couple hours later, mostly to try and plan what to do for the night, he found the bed empty and the two boys gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well me Ed wouldn't climb out a window while half dead, because he totally would.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back! This was supposed to be up yesterday, but I got busy, so sorry about that! I hope you enjoy.

Roy knew that until the day he died, he would never be able to properly explain to Maes Hughes just how much the man meant to him.

Thankfully, it seemed his friend knew, without the use of words.    


When a few weeks ago he had discovered that hospital bed, devoid of one Edom Ehrlich, he’d spiraled into  _ yet another  _ panic attack. He hadn’t had so many so close together since the first months after Ishval.

Hughes had managed to talk him down, even after the nurses told him that there was nothing they could do if a couple kids with no guardians decided to leave. Roy guessed it had more to do with their race than their lack of parents, but by some miracle, kept it to himself.

After that, his friend had insisted upon coming to stay for a week. Maes claimed it was just wanting to catch up, they hadn’t spent time together in  _ forever _ , but Roy knew better. He remembered nights when he was so drunk he would have choked on his own vomit had Maes not been ther. Remembered his friend crashing on the couch in Roy's small, underfurnished apartment to make sure he was okay. He remembered Maes slamming into his door, threatening to break it down if Roy didn’t open it, because he’d found that book of notes on human- 

He guessed Maes must have remembered all that too.

While he was there, they didn’t talk about the kids.

When Roy had called, Maes assured him that he was still looking for a place for them, it was just difficult trying to find somebody to take two disabled Ishvalan- Roy had cut him off, breathing fast and heavy saying  _ “They’re gone.” _

A week with Maes had been...surprisingly nice. His friend pulled him around to bookstores and coffee shops, always chatting about everything and anything. It felt like it did back when everything was okay, back before Ishval. Before Roy brought fire and death. The outings were long and uneventful, but relaxing. Even Hawkeye joined them on occasion. It was grounding, a shift from what had become a monotonous existence. 

The nightmares didn’t stop though.

When the week was up, Maes bid him a reluctant goodbye, and stepped on the train back to Central. Roy knew Gracia would be there to pick him up, and that Maes would tell her he was worried, as he always did, but life would go on.

And go on it did. The days turned into weeks as autumn turned into winter, and Roy tried his best not to think about how the doctor said the boys wouldn’t survive the cold.

It was mid-November, and colder than usual in East City.  _ Snow _ had fallen in the previous days, but had since stopped. Roy guessed it was simply too cold for it to fall, but while it occasionally snowed in Central, he wasn’t nearly as familiar with it as people who had grown up in the north of Amestris. In East City it was near unheard of. Even people with homes weren't prepared to deal with that kind of cold snap.

Roy sat in his office chair, a book in hand. The double doors to the sitting room were open, allowing the warmth from the wood fireplace to radiate through the area. It crackled as it ate away at the dry wood, and set the entire sitting room in a soft, orange glow.

He grabbed a mug of coffee, sipping at it absentmindedly, before making a face. It had long since gone cold. How long had he even been reading? Standing up, he checked his pocket watch:  _ 7:21pm. _

Sighing, he took the mug to the kitchen, and dropped it in the sink. He knew he should probably wash it, but he just didn’t have the energy. Being outside in the bitter cold hadn’t done anything good to his mood, nor had dealing with incorrectly filed paperwork that had to be redone. He hadn’t even been the one to file it! 

Glancing at the coffee maker, Roy discarded that idea. He’d have enough trouble sleeping as it was, no need to add caffeine into the mix. Instead, he filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove.

He was about to head back to his book when he heard a quiet, almost hesitant knock on his front door. 

Roy creased his eyebrows, and glanced outside the kitchen window. It was late and freezing, who in their right mind would be outside in that kind of weather?

He slipped in hand in the pocket of his pants, feeling for his ignition glove as he walked toward the door. If somebody wanted trouble, he’d be sure to give it to them.

Hawkeye probably would have called it hypervigilance, but she’d do it with a hand on her gun.

A blast of cold air chilling him as he opened the door. The wind was blowing strong and heavy, and standing on his doorstep were the two Ehrlich boys.

Al stood in front, his hands curled in what little clothing he had. A ragged blanket was wrapped around his frail form, but judging by his shivering, it didn’t appear to be doing much good. His lips were raw and bleeding, from biting or the cold, Roy wasn’t sure. Probably both. His ears, cheeks, and nose had gone bright red, some places looking waxy. Frostbite then. If his laboured breathing was any indication, hypothermia as well.

Ed was behind him, scowling despite his shaking form. His weight was leaned heavily on a makeshift crutch, the hand holding it was pale. He seemed to be doing slightly worse than his brother, probably due to having less layers. Roy guessed he’d given what little he could to Al.

“Uh, h-hi, Mr. Mustang s-sir,” Al began, “I’m s-sorry to bother-”

Roy cut him off,because the boy was shaking so hard he could barely speak. “Inside, now.” 

He stepped away from the open door, and into the sitting room. The chest of blankets was there, and he took them all out. He heard the door close in the hall.

They would need to warm up, and reheat the frostbitten parts.

“Come on,” he told them, glancing at where they stood the hallway. They were both still shivering, which was good.it meant the hypothermia hadn't progressed too far. 

Al moved first, hesitant as the first day he’d been there, a month and a half before. Ed limped in after, teeth clenched like he was in pain - fuck, he probably was.

“T-thanks,” Al said, looking down. “I’m sorry. W-we didn’t know w-where to go, and it's-so cold.”

Roy made a noise of acknowledgement as he pulled one of the sofa’s closer to the fire. “Sit down, take off anything that’s damp. I can get you other clothes if you need.” He pointed to the blankets. 

He watched as Al took off a few layers of clothing, and glanced nervously toward Ed. 

The boy hadn’t really moved after entering the sitting room, only scowling and shaking.

“Brother please,” Al begged, he sounded like he was about to cry.

Ed said something in Ishvalan that Roy didn’t understand, which he guessed was the point.

Al glanced in his direction, before facing his brother again.

The exchange went back and forth for a moment, Al getting more frantic with each moment. Eventually, Ed growled, but limped over to the sofa. 

Al helped him pull off a thin jacket, old and moth eaten. It looked like it had been found in the trash, which wasn’t saying much. Everything the boys owned looked as if they’d scavenged it from people’s garbage. They probably had.

Taking that as a sign to leave, Roy headed into the kitchen. The kettle was boiling, which was good. He grabbed some hand towels and put them in the oven to warm, while he poured two mugs of tea, each half full, and poured the rest of the water into bowls. He’d let it cool for a bit before bringing it out to help reheat their skin. 

“Here,” he said upon entering the room again.

The boys were both bundled in several blankets, although still shivering. He handed them each a mug, making sure they had a good grip. Al thanked him quietly, using both hands to grasp his. Ed held his on top of his knee, helping to keep it balanced through his shaking.

Roy supposed he must have learned to adjust a while ago if he could do things like that instinctively. “Drink,” he instructed them. “It’s just tea.”

Ed made a face at the drink like it was poisoned, which he probably thought it was. Al on the other hand readily began sipping on the drink, although judging by his expression, he didn’t enjoy it much. At least he hadn’t complained.

After a few minutes, Roy brought the bowls of water, and warm towels. Told the boys to keep one against the back of their neck, and another against their chest. It would help warm them up.

Next came trying to reheat the frozen flesh. Roy desperately hoped that it was only superficial damage, because he doubted either of the kids would be willing to go to a doctor after the last time.

“No,” Ed spat, trying to push himself back into the sofa, as if he could escape. Even with his ‘crutch’ in reach, Roy doubted the kid would be able to walk all that much. The kid’s manual dexterity was basically zero, and while he’d been strong enough to support himself while getting to Roy’s home, he doubted the feat could be repeated in the warmth, let alone back outside in the freezing air. “And don’t touch him either!”

Roy held back an exasperated sigh. “I’m not going to touch either of you, you just need to soak the frost bitten parts in water, or with a warm, damp towel if you can't get it in. Otherwise the skin is going to end up damaged even worse.”

“I said no.”

“Kid-”

“Do  _ not _ call me kid,” the words were said through clenched teeth. “I’ve seen more shit than most of the dogs you work with. I’m not a fucking  _ kid. _ ”

“Brother-” Al tried placating him, but Ed ignored him.

Instead, he stared straight at Roy. “We are only here because Al insisted, that’s it. We don’t need your help.”

“Oh really?” Roy replied before he could help himself. “Because the way your brother’s fingers are turning white and waxy  _ absolutely _ looks like you have everything under control.” It was petty to bring his brother into it, especially when he’d already gathered that this brat would do anything for him, but fuck. The kid just wouldn’t  _ listen. _ “Do you know what happens to untreated frostbite?” he didn’t wait for a response. “It gets  _ worse. _ It turns black and necrotizes, rots away. People lose fingers, while limbs from it,” he tried to keep his gaze away from where he knew Ed’s missing limbs were.  _ Missing limbs and burns, burns you may have put there. No wonder he doesn’t trust you, you killed his family, his people, burned Ishval to the ground and soaked the sand with the blood of his people. _

“Oh fuck  _ you, _ Mr. Self Righteous.” He scoffed, still wrapped in blankets. At least the bruises on his face seemed to have healed. “What, you trying to get rid of the guilt by helping us? Think if you take us in from the cold, let us lick our wounds, and kick us out again, it will suddenly make up for all the shit you did? All the people you  _ murdered? _ Hope that helping out two kids will repay your fucking debt? Help you sleep at night? Fix-”

“Brother, enough,” Al snapped.

“No, Al, it isn’t enough. You do know who he is, don’t you?” Rage was barely contained as Ed forced the words between his clenched teeth. His eyes flashed dangerously to his brother, who held firm, meeting his eyes. 

Something silent seemed to go on between them, before Ed slouched like a marionette who’s strings had been cut. He looked down, but Roy could see his hand clench against the mug.

“I’m sorry for-” Al began, but Roy shook his head.

Fuck, he was getting too old for this. Some part of his mind reminded him that he was only twenty-three. Instead of slamming his head into his wall until it bled, or drinking until he couldn't remember his own name, he held up a hand to silence Al’s apology. “No,” he shook his head. “Don’t- don’t apologize. He’s right.” Roy is quiet for a moment. “Well, right about some things.”

Ed flicked his eyes up to glare at him again, although the anger seemed to be partially laced with curiosity. 

“I didn’t help you out of guilt,” he explained. “Whether you were Ishvalan or not, I would have done the same thing. I helped you because you needed it. But it's also true that nothing can change what I’ve done. I could save a thousand Ishvalan children, and it wouldn’t silence the screams of those I’ve killed. It wouldn’t bring them back.” Roy looks at his hands, tries to see anything but ash, tries to smell anything but burning flesh. He feels ill. “My hands are soaked in the blood of your people, and that is something I can never forgive myself for, nor forget.” He takes a shaky breath, and looks back up at the kids.  They’re both staring at him, although for what looks like different reasons. Ed looked shocked, before his face settled back into its usual scowl, while Al just looked kind of sad.

Nobody said much after that, but Ed did allow him to help thaw out his hand and foot, and conceded to him helping Al as well. It hurt, although Ed went through it with the same stoic glare he seemed to everything, even refusing the aspirin Roy offered, although he encouraged his brother to take it. 

Their hands and feet were reddish purple by the end, and Roy tried to hide his cringe. They’d probably blister overnight. Carefully, he wrapped the affected areas with medical dressings. 

By some miracle, Roy managed to convince the boys to stay a few days, just until the weather cleared enough for it to be safe for them. It turned out to be three days.

The boys ate as much as possible, and hid what they couldn’t, as if it would get taken away from them. Roy pretended he didn’t notice. Just like he pretended he didn’t notice Al’s longing glances toward his alchemy books, when his older brother wasn’t looking. 

“You need warm clothes,” Roy told them as they got ready to leave on the afternoon of the third day. It was warmer, but not by much. Both the boys still had bandages, and Roy knew that if the area wasn’t kept clean, it could cause an infection. He’d never been more glad for the first aid he’d received during military training. 

Ed shrugged, as best he could with one arm. “Clothes cost money. Food tends to be more important.”

Roy closed his eyes in thought before he took his wallet out of his pocket. He had 1257 cenz on him. He gave it all to the kids.

“But sir,” Al protested, red eyes wide. “We can’t take this. You’ve already done so much for us.”

“Basic decency isn’t a lot,” he told them, “just take the money, get some gloves and socks.” They probably wouldn’t be able to get much more than that, Roy thought unhappily, but it was all he had on him. Maybe he should keep more around, just in case they ever came back...

Both boys still looked uncertain, but Ed gave in first. “Fine, but this doesn’t mean we like you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're ready for some Roy and Ed bonding time.
> 
> My beta was busy, so I edited this chapter myself. Let me know if I missed anything please so I can go back and correct it.
> 
> TW for implied CSA, mentioned a little offhandedly.

The boys started coming around more often after that.

It became a routine of sorts. Whenever the weather got bad, Roy would find himself waiting for a knock at his door. It was the third time they came that Al greeted him with a nervous smile, opposite to Ed’s scowl. Seeing that smile felt like a punch through Roy’s gut. He didn’t  _ deserve _ that. He didn’t deserve to see this little kid smile at him, like he was doing something kind or good.

The fact he’d managed to get them each a pair of winter boots and decent jackets meant nothing. He just couldn’t stand the thought of them out there, freezing. Roy would have bought them more if he could, but he didn’t think that Ed’s pride could take more help than he had been given. As it was, the boy would have refused the few used items Roy bought if he hadn’t casually left them out by the door. 

Weeks passed, and Roy found himself becoming actually  _ fond _ of the boys, even if Ed had yet to stop glaring at him for more than a few minutes at a time. The kid probably scowled in his sleep too.

It didn’t occur to him how much the boys had become an expected part of his life until he was grocery shopping. By the time he was checking out, Roy realized that half his cart was full of food the kids could take with them if they wanted (they always did), and things he had discovered they liked. 

The way Al’s eyes grew wide and  _ watered _ when he saw the food specifically for  _ them,  _ the sound of his choked out  _ “thank you,” _ made it all worth it. Even Ed seemed to settle, if the way he ate that evening meant anything. For his part, Roy simply pretended there was nothing of it, something he gathered Ed would appreciate. 

Ed and Al had crept into his life in far more subtle ways too. There was a permanent pile of blankets in his sitting room, left out in easy reach. A couple old shirts, a few sizes too small for him, were left folded in the guest room. A thick winter quilt - made by one of Madam’s girls a few years back - was set out on the bed.

He never did get around to telling Maes. 

Of course, the boys were bound to encounter some of Roy’s less savoury habits eventually. It’d been a couple months of them coming over, and Roy was drunk more evenings than he wasn’t. It was honestly miraculous it hadn’t happened before.

He was on his third glass of scotch. Good scotch. The kind people usually reserved for guests and celebration. Not to nurse alone over old alchemy books he never intended to touch again, reminiscing over easier days when his life wasn’t fire and nightmares and bodies charred to ash. It had been a hard day at work, something small had set him off, although by that evening he couldn’t even remember what it had been. Some triggers were more subtle than others. A car backfiring into a vicious panic attack was big enough to notice, and take note off. The scent of cooking meat making him vomit was the same. But he didn’t always react that way. It wasn’t always flashbacks and panic attacks. Sometimes Roy just felt  _ off.  _ A feeling that just kept compounding over the course of the day, leaving him ready to drink himself into a stupor by the time he got home. It was a particular brand of tension and anxiety that left him snapping at his team, his temper and patience almost non-existent.

A knock on the door drew him from his alcohol induced haze. Roy’s forehead creased as he stood, having to brace his hand on his desk to do so. He figured it was Hawkeye. She had been stealing concerned glances at him all day, which did nothing for his growing agitation. Although it was surprising she hadn’t called Maes, since she usually got him to talk to Roy before visiting his place herself. 

There was another knock, and Roy shook his head to clear it. He stumbled a little as he made his way through the house. Okay, so  _ maybe _ he’d drank more than he was planning to, or willing to admit. Hawkeye was going to murder him. Still, he pulled the door open, only to reveal not Hawkeye, but the Ehrlich brothers.  _ Fuck. _

He just stood there for a moment, his brain trying to process what was happening. 

Ed glared up at him in suspicion, and Roy really should have seen this entire mess coming. The weather had called for freezing rain, and had he not been so  _ off _ all day, he probably would have realized that meant the boys would likely seek his home out for warmth and shelter. 

“Are you _ drunk?”  _ the older of the two asks, venom lacing his words, and yeah okay that was probably fair. The smile that had been on Al’s face, bright, nervous,  _ happy, _ something Roy didn’t deserve to see, fell as he glanced between his brother and Roy.

Roy, to his credit, merely leaned casually against the door. “Yes,” he answered flatly. No point in trying to deny it when the kid could probably smell it on him. Not only that, but he was trying to build a relationship of trust between them. Lying would do no good then, nor in the future. “Come in, or don’t,” he added the second part at Ed’s apprehensive glare. Kid probably didn’t have very good experiences with drunks. “I uh,” he reached for his coat, which was hanging on the rack by the door, and pulled out his wallet. “Here.” Roy handed them some cash, although he wasn’t really sure how much it was. “Should be enough to get a hotel or something, if you aren’t comfortable staying here.” 

Scowling, Ed pocketed the cash with his single good arm. He had great balance for a kid missing an arm and leg, on opposite sides of his body. He’d brace the well worn cane he was using between his good arm and ribs, allowing his hand to be free for a few moments. Roy knew from watching him that Ed couldn’t move that way, but it was how he managed to stay standing when he needed to hold something.

The boys shared a look, something silent passing between them, before Ed asked him something in their native language. Roy still had no clue what they were saying, but knew that his ignorance was the point. After a couple moments, Ed sighed.

“It’s fine,” he said, abid begrudgingly. “I’m keeping the money though.” 

Roy only shrugged, and turned away from them as the boys filed into his house. He wasn’t as unsteady on his feet as he had been when he first stood, but Roy kept hold of the wall just in case. 

The boys settled easily in the sitting room, bundled in blankets. Al had fallen asleep there more than once, and Ed hadn’t even made a stink when Roy carried the younger boy upstairs to sleep, instead just watched his younger brother with a fond smile. 

“You know where everything is,” Roy told them. “Help yourself to whatever.” It was the same thing he told them everytime, just to make sure they knew. Al was always nervous about taking things, even if Ed didn’t care at all. Roy was reasonably sure the brat would take things that he *wasn’t* allowed to take anyway, even if he specified. Not that Roy had much he cared about, only his alchemy books. A topic Ed held disdain for, even if it wasn’t an opinion shared by his brother. At least Al wasn’t too scared to disagree on some things. 

Roy had just settled back in his study, the door to the hallway left half open, when Ed pushed his way in. Looking up, Roy put his drink down with a clumsy clank of glass against wood. Ed scowled. 

“What is wrong with you?” Ed snapped quietly. Him being bitter wasn’t unusual, but being quiet about it was.

Roy only raised an eyebrow in question. 

Ed glared down at the drink sitting on the desk, before his eyes flicked back up to Roy. “Al hates alcohol,” he said evenly, and something told Roy that Al wasn’t the only one uncomfortable with it, not that Ed would ever admit it if it were true. Always pride with that kid. The boy opened his mouth, only to close it again. He did it a few more times before cursing. “Fuck, look. Drunk guys? They’re not just violent, they can get...” he stopped, biting at the inside of his mouth. Roy knew the look, Ed was trying to think of a way to sugar coat what he was about to say. It was a skill he likely only cultivated thanks to a younger sibling. “Handsy.” 

Really, Roy shouldn’t have been surprised. Al had been concerned about that, back when they’d first met. The words stayed seared into his brain, even after the boy had disappeared.  _ Especially _ after he had disappeared. Still, he  _ was _ surprised. Maybe he just hadn’t expected Ed to talk about it so openly. Thinking about people being like... like  _ that _ with the boys was enough to make Roy want to vomit and kill somebody, in near equal measures. 

“I would fucking  _ never, _ ” Roy responded, his voice quiet but harsh. His guess was that Al wasn’t supposed to overhear the conversation. “I-”

“I know that,” Ed cut him off with a growl. “You might be a bastard, but at least you aren’t like  _ that. _ Just,” he let a hard breath out through his teeth. “But it puts Al on edge.”

There was a weight to that last sentence, enough to confirm to Roy that it wasn’t only Al who was uncomfortable. It was the closest Ed had ever come to asking for anything, even if it was thinly veiled as a statement, and one purely for his brother’s wellbeing. Come to think of it, this was the first time Ed had sought him out for something alone. Usually it was Al, if either of them needed something, or he just waited until Roy came to check on them. But there he was, standing in Roy’s study, in a space where Ed probably felt uncomfortable, unbalanced. It wasn’t neutral territory, which really showed just how fucked Ed felt about it. 

Stifling a sigh, Roy stood. He carried the glass in one hand, and bottle in the other. Last time he bought expensive scotch. Passing Ed on the way out, he stopped for a moment. “Thanks for letting me know, kid.” 

Watching his expensive alcohol pour down the drain was harder than it should have been. He didn’t  _ want  _ to get rid of it, which bothered him. Sure, it had cost a bit, but it was almost nothing compared to the money he made for murdering innocent people, and having a leash around his neck for the Fuhrer to pull on. 

The price had been an easy excuse to not want to part with it, but it wasn’t the reason, which was something that was probably a bad sign. 

Maes had mentioned it, when they’d first gotten home from Ishval and Roy was spending every night piss drunk just so he could sleep. He’d asked if Roy always drank that much, only to receive a shrug in return.  _ “Lets just say, you aren’t special in this respect.”  _ Roy had told him. And tried to ignore the frown he’d gotten in response. A red flag, Maes had called it. His drinking had been full of red flags for a while now. Fuck. 

Maybe he should give Maes a call that upcoming weekend, ask if he thought his drinking was a problem. He could skip calling Hawkeye, knowing she’d respectfully find a way to tell him that yes, she did think that. 

When the last of the amber liquid had disappeared down the drain, Roy put the glass bottle in the sink, and left it there. Turning around, he caught sight of Ed, who was leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. He looked far too exhausted for an eleven year old. Far too angry and hurt. He gave off a similar aura to that of an injured animal. Desperate and scared, ready to lash out at any moment, at whatever hand reached out to him. It was different from Al, who still managed to seem like a kid. There was an air of maturity to them both, but while Al managed to retain some innocence, Ed looked like the soldiers Roy had traveled home with.

He hated it, and really wished he had drank the rest of that bottle instead.

Ed wet his lips, he seemed nervous. “Thanks,” he said quietly after a moment, his voice heavy. “For uh, looking out for Al.”

Roy knew better than to point out that he was taking care of them  _ both.  _ Besides, he could read between the lines. “Don't mention it,” he replied, and he meant it. Roy could go his entire life never thinking about the way Ed said  _ “thanks,”  _ like it was something precious. Sighing, Roy opened a cabinet. “Want to help with the rest?”

There were a few more bottles. Scotch, whiskey, and brandy. He had a taste for darker liquors. 

The next few minutes found Roy uncapping bottles, and handing them to Ed as the boy leaned against the counter, pouring them down the drain. Roy tried his best to ignore the twinge in his chest every time Ed put an empty bottle down, and took the next one from Roy’s hand. 

Ed seemed to have something on his mind, judging from the way he kept glancing at Roy, but he didn’t say anything. They were almost finished when he finally did speak up. “Why do you drink?”

Now  _ that _ was a loaded question.

It would be easy to say something vague, and Roy knew he probably should. However mature Ed seemed to be, he was still just a kid, and alcohol? That was an adult problem.

But the kid had been brave enough to come up to him, to ask him for help, even if he couldn’t bring himself to actually  _ ask _ . 

“It’s... complicated,” Roy settled on after a few moments. “I haven’t put too much thought into it myself. I... I guess it just helps.”

“Helps with what?” the question was so innocent, so sincere, that for just a moment Ed sounded like the kid he truly was. 

“I hate myself,” the words spilled from his lips before he could stop them, but they felt  _ right. _ “I joined the military to help people. I did the opposite. And I hate myself for it.”

Ed didn’t have much to say after that. Roy figured he wouldn’t. 

By the time they ventured back into the sitting room, Al was already curled up asleep. Roy couldn’t help but smile a little. Ed did the same thing. 

“Don’t wake him,” Ed whispered to him. 

Roy only nodded, and went over to lift Al into his arms. The ten year old didn’t stir. 

It was only after he’d put Al into bed that Ed finally spoke. 

“You shouldn’t,” he told Roy as the man turned to leave. “Hate yourself, I mean.” Ed bit his lip, and scowled. “I just mean. There’s worse people out there.”

Roy would deny it to the end of his days, but hearing that from a traumatized Ishvalan kid was enough to make him a little choked up. “Thanks kid,” he managed to say. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Ed scoffed, before crawling into bed next to his brother.

If Roy cried a little that night, well, nobody needed to know about it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why hello there! I hope you are all doing well! I have returned with a new chapter contenting more of the content we all know and love: Roy being broody and awkward, Al desperately wanting parental affection, and Ed pretending none of this is happening.
> 
> A special thank you to my new beta reader, since my old one has gotten busy. aeoleus here on ao3, otherwise known as ta1k-less on tumblr has been fantastic! 
> 
> Also an important note about this chapter. I talk about PTSD in a more period accurate way in this chapter. For those of you who are unaware, one of the first predecessors of the modern PTSD diagnosis was known as Shell Shock. It was coined by a British psych in WWI, and called Shell Shock because it was first assumed to be in response to overhead artillery explosives. Since the FMA doesn’t have overhead artillery, I renamed Shell Shock to Battle Shock, an inability to cope with the war. It is an in world diagnosis that is heavily stigmatized. We see that when Armstrong has a breakdown over a dead child, and its viewed as shameful. Roy also doesn’t even think that it’s something he could have, even though he has nightmares, flashbacks and panic attacks. To him, that’s what happens to other people not him. So his views on it are a bit of an unreliable narrator. But yeah he’s totally got PTSD
> 
> With all my love, I hope you enjoy this newest chapter.  
> Give me a follow on tumblr at https://isnt-it-pretty.tumblr.com/ or hit me up on discord at Canadeath#1368

It was a late February evening, a Thursday night. Roy was exhausted. He’d had to work late all week so far, and would probably have to do the same until halfway through the following week. Hawkeye had been watching him like, well, a hawk, to make sure his work was finished. It was terrible.

He parked his car outside his house, and only then noticed the cold winter wind. Through his work-addled brain, he didn’t think much of it. As he approached his house however, Roy stopped. Two figures sat huddled on his doorstep, an old, frayed blanket pulled tight around them.

Fuck.

“Are you two okay?” 

They looked up at him, Al looking oh-so hopeful. As if Roy’s heart didn’t ache enough seeing them sitting out in the cold, waiting for _him_ to get off work.

Ed nodded minutely, barely noticeable in the dimly-lit shadows of his front door. The boy’s crutch leaned against his side. They really needed to find a better solution than that one of these days, find _some_ way to increase his mobility, but Roy suspected Ed would rather hobble around for the rest of his life than accept help. _Especially_ when it didn’t concern Al’s wellbeing.

He stepped past the boys and unlocked the door, solutions to the various problems the boys brought with them already whirling in his mind.

Al helped Ed stand, though it was clearly reluctantly on Ed’s part, and the two followed him out of the cold February wind. They deposited their winter gear by the door. Ed sat down to take off his singular boot with a scowl before they headed into the sitting room. Roy already had a fire going.

Perks of Flame Alchemy, he supposed. Not that he ever used it in front of the boys.

Something about snapping his fingers in the same room as two Ishvalan children, covered in _burn scars_ no less _,_ was enough to send him into a panic attack. Not an ideal space to be in around said kids. Besides, he still hadn’t worked up the courage to ask about the scars, or Ed’s missing limbs. He wasn’t even sure he _wanted_ to know. Wasn’t sure he could live with himself if he did.

He still remembered that night following Ishval, and was sure Maes did too.

After all, it’s not everyday somebody has to break down their friend's door at 2am to find them with a gun to their head.

“Thank you, sir!” Al chirped happily as he settled among the blankets. 

It was one of the rare times he caught Ed smiling. Whenever Al seemed particularly happy, a soft, fond smile found its way onto Ed’s face as well. The two loved each other so dearly that it made Roy’s heart ache. They had lost everything, but they still had each other. 

They were eating dinner- not at the table, of course- they weren’t a _family_ , when Roy got the idea. He put his bowl of pasta he had quickly made for the boys aside and headed into his study. He pulled out a piece of chalk from his desk drawer before he moved to a cabinet and took out a block of brass. 

While he may specialize in Flame Alchemy, that didn’t mean Roy hadn’t been taught the basics. Though, it’d been long enough that he still had to grab one of his old books in order to find the correct array.

He cleared off his desk- no _way_ he was going to do it on the floor-and began to draw, using the book as reference.

The motion seemed to have caught the boys’ attention. 

“What are you doing?” Al asked from his spot on the sofa, still bundled in blankets. 

Ed didn’t ask, but Roy could tell he was looking too. Well, time to see how the older boy reacted to alchemy in use, considering what Al had said about it in the past. 

“Alchemy,” he answered, cursing quietly as he fucked up one part of the array. He wiped it away and redrew it before glancing up at the boys.

Al perked up, while Ed looked exceedingly unsure. The younger of the two glanced toward his brother nervously and bit his lip. He apparently made up his mind when he asked, “Can I watch?”

Ed looked sharply at Al his expression drawn in what Roy thought looked like surprise.

“Yeah, of course,” Roy answered. Al hurried over and started looking over the array. He glanced at the book and then back at what Roy was drawing. 

Roy looked back at Ed. “Would you like to see?”

Ed bit his lip. His body was tense, but he slowly grabbed his crutch and started making his way over. The comfort level between the two was clearly drastically different. Al was soaking in all the knowledge he could, asking Roy questions as he drew, while Ed sat silently in the desk chair, his entire body rigid. 

After a few more minutes than it would have usually taken Roy to draw the array- Al had a lot of questions, and Roy was happy to oblige- he activated the array.

A bright flash of brilliant blue, so different from Roy’s usual red of Flame Alchemy, filled the room. The next moment, the lump of brass had been transmuted into a key that was identical to Roy’s own house key.

Both of the boys’ eyes were wide. It was a little surprising, since Roy knew they had performed small feats of alchemy on their own, years before. But maybe that was it. They hadn’t seen mundane alchemy, the kind used outside of war, in a long time, if ever, other than themselves. Ishvalan people weren’t very forgiving of the science. He picked up the key and handed it to Al.

“It isn’t even hot!” The boy ran his hands along the smooth edges. “Nothing we ever made was like this.” He turned to Ed. “Isn’t it amazing?”

Ed was still tense, but his eyes were wide. Hesitantly, he lifted a hand and touched the key, almost like he was scared it would hurt him.

His experience with alchemy probably made that concern valid.

Roy leaned against a bookshelf, trying his best not to make any sudden movements. Ed looked almost like a scared animal, facing alchemy. It made his heart ache.

Al had told him how much they had loved alchemy when they were younger, and it killed Roy to know he was part of the reason Ed was now so adverse to it.

“You two can keep that,” Roy said, after a moment. Both boys looked at him. “So that you don’t end up sitting outside again.”

“You trust us with a key to your home?” Al asked.

Roy shrugged. “Why not? You haven’t done anything to make me think that you aren’t deserving of it.”

* * *

The boys were still there when he got home from work the next day. 

Ed purposely didn’t look up from his spot on the couch when Roy entered the room, instead keeping his head buried in a nonfiction book. Al was laying on his stomach, which really didn’t look all that comfortable, but Roy supposed they had faced far worse discomforts.. He had a book open in front of him, and Roy recognized it as one of the easier alchemy books.

It warmed his heart a little to see Al openly reading it in front of his brother, even if Ed still seemed to have no interest in the subject.

“Hi, Mr. Mustang!” Al said, smiling. 

Fuck. There was a lot Roy would be willing to do to see Al smile like that more often.

He leaned against the doorframe . “Are you understanding everything okay? I can put something on for dinner, and you can ask me if you have any questions.”

Ed was trying very hard to appear busy as his younger brother readily agreed.For a moment, Roy considered drawing Ed into the conversation, maybe by asking him what he wanted to eat; but he decided it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. If the kid didn’t want to be involved, then so be it. Roy would rather be ignored than question where the boys were, and if they were safe. They would venture out on their own again soon, Roy knew, but until then, maybe he could settle them into a semi-domestic routine. 

Roy really didn’t want to think about what Maes or Riza would say to that.

Instead of dwelling on that, or on the fact that Roy was being undeniably domestic, he cooked. 

When the boys were around, Roy made sure he made real food, rather than eating what could _maybe_ be classified as military rations. Somehow, it was easier to put in the effort for the boys, than it was to do something for only himself. 

He made pasta. They ate in silence. Ed was still ignoring him, which Roy honestly wasn’t all that concerned about. The kid did that, sometimes. One moment he’d be fine, and the next he’d be moody or ill-tempered, and soon after that, he’d be unnervingly silent. If Al didn’t seem overly worried, then it was probably fine.

But a part of Roy was still troubled by it; enough of Ed’s behaviors and reactions were reminiscent of battle shock- a psychological phenomenon some soldiers returning from Ishval developed- that something set off alarm bells in the back of his head. The shock was what happened when soldiers couldn’t cope with the things they’d seen or done. The military treated it as something to be ashamed of, as if it was a lack of moral fibre that led to a rash of suicides and resignations by State Alchemists in particular, rather than horror at what they’d experienced.

If Ed had something like that, Roy wasn’t exactly sure what he could do about it. Was it his place to do anything at all? Ed would definitely prefer he didn’t. But Roy saw the fatigue that pulled at Ed’s features, how he was often tense, ready to run at any moment.

Roy supposed giving the boys a safe place to be was the best that he could do. Besides, it wasn’t like he was in a place to say anything. If he said anything, Ed would most likely just scowl at him and deflect, and then clam up and disappear with Al for a few weeks. No, it was better to leave him be. It wasn’t like Roy was his father or anything. Ed had been taking care of himself and his brother since long before Roy came around.

Course of action - or lack thereof, in this case - decided, Roy turned his attention to Al.

“If you’d like, you can practice some transmutations,” He told him. At Al’s excited look he quickly added, “under two conditions. One, you let me know what you’re doing first. Two, you don’t break any laws.”

If there was one thing Mustang did _not_ want, it was to deal with Al transmutting gold in his house. His mind refused to consider human transmutation - it was too horrific a thought.

Al, of course, took up his offer eagerly. They spent the evening in Roy’s office, the door to the sitting room open so that Ed could keep watch while pretending he wasn’t. 

The kid was a fucking prodigy. He still had a lot to learn, yes, but for somebody self-taught? He was incredible. He had good control over his transmutations. While they were slow, the transmutation marks were minimal. When he told the kid such, Al preened at the praise. 

In the end, Roy managed to convince the boys to get up to bed sometime before midnight. If it weren’t for Al’s yawning over the book he was reading, Roy wasn’t sure he would have been able to convince Ed. But, as he always did, the kid cared more about his brother than himself.

With the boys off to bed, Roy retreated to his office, staring blankly at the chalk transmutation circles Al had drawn. 

As long as Roy could remember, sleep had never come easy. Even as a child, his mind was often too busy whirring with thoughts to allow him to fall asleep without a fight. His aunt had all but given up by the time he was ten, and let him fall asleep in the backroom with the girls before carrying him to bed. He’d learned to function off very little sleep in the academy, and even less in Ishval, but his insomnia had never been as bad as it had been since he had come home. When he could drink himself into a stupor, he’d manage to pass out- hangovers were easier to handle than the constant, grueling exhaustion- but it’d been weeks since he last drank. 

It was easier when the boys were around. Just knowing that Ed and Al were safe and warm did wonders for his mounting anxiety - a thought he was adamantly _not_ going to read into - but not enough to totally end it. What little sleep he did get was plagued by nightmares. He could only remember some of them upon waking up, but they all left him rattled. More often than not, the predawn hours were marked by the acrid smell of vomit wafting from his bathroom. If the boys ever heard him, they at least had the decency not to comment.

Sighing, Roy leaned back in his chair. He’d leave the transmutation circle up. If Al wanted to continue working with it, he wouldn’t make the kid rewrite it. 

There was something to be said about the simple joy Al had shown while transmuting. When was the last time Roy had felt that? The last time any of his friends had? When he was younger and still just a student Roy loved the simple act of transmuting. Drawing the circle, puzzling through the symbols he needed to make it function. Trial and error. It was fun then. Exhilarating, like he was exploring uncharted territory, and anything could happen. It hadn’t felt like that in a long time. Since far before Ishval. 

Now, transmutations felt almost like a chore. A snap of his fingers had burned cities to the ground. Maybe there was something fundamentally broken in him. Something that Ishval had taken and shattered into sharp, jagged edges. Maybe he was nothing but shards of glass held perilously together in a shattered frame, ready to splinter into a thousand pieces at the slightest provocation; destruction incarnate. There was no strength in that. No bravery in surviving, when he shouldn’t have, when he didn’t deserve to.

He should call Maes. Maes would answer and talk him down. Ground him and remind him of his goals, since everything around him was suffocating. His hand touched Al’s rough transmutation circle. The boys didn’t need him. All he would do is hurt them too, destroy what little joy and innocence they may have left. 

What he wouldn’t give for a bottle of liquor. 

A creak on the stairs caught his attention. It was more defined than just the house settling for the night. Getting up, Roy headed out into the hall. Al stood on the stairs, wrapped in one of the many blankets Roy had taken to leaving in the bedroom. His eyes were bright, even in the darkness. The normal red of his iris was rimmed with a bright, blood-red, like he’d been crying.

“Al?” Roy asked, stepping toward him. He kept his voice down. “Are you okay? Is Ed okay?” Something being wrong with Ed made sense as a first thought to Roy. It was unlikely Al would seek anybody else out if he was upset.

“He’s asleep,” Al replied, his voice quiet and watery. “He, um, he hasn’t been feeling well.I didn’t want to wake him. It’d only upset him more.”

Well, that certainly tracked with what Roy had seen over the evening.

“Okay,” Roy said, taking a step back. “Would you like to come sit down?” He made it easy for Al to pass him and head into the sitting room, where the fire still burned low in the hearth.

Al moved with a nervous energy, curling a bit into himself as he sat down. He purposely didn’t look at the fire. That alone was enough to clue Roy in to what this may have been about. 

“Bad dreams?” Roy asked, sitting down on the other sofa. He didn’t want to get too close to Al. That was what comforting traumatized children entailed, right?

Al only nodded. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Roy phrased the question carefully. He didn’t want to assume anything and end up making the situation worse. 

It took Al a moment to answer. “Can you sit with me?”

Roy couldn’t think of the last time he’d had casual physical contact with somebody other than Maes. His aunt and sisters never held back on it - his childhood had been full of hugs and physical contact - but he hadn’t been home in months. Sometimes, he’d carry Al to bed when he fell asleep, but that felt different, and it was always under Ed’s watchful eye.

“Yeah, of course,” Roy said, standing up and closing the distance between himself and Al. 

He’d fought in a bloody, terrible war, regularly met with highly-ranked generals. Sitting next to a traumatized child should not terrify him nearly as much as it did. Maybe it was because, unlike throwing food at them, letting Al lean against him crossed a line he wasn’t sure he could ever uncross. 

Al practically burrowed into his side, hiding his face in the folds of the shirt against Roy’s ribs.

“It's okay,” Roy told him quietly, moving an arm around Al to rub his back. He knew he was meant to do _something,_ though he wasn’t sure if that was the right move. Al was so _small._ Logically, Roy knew this. He could look at the boys and see how tiny they were, how emaciated their frames were from years of living on the streets, the scars of war that marked their dark skin, but it was a different experience altogether to hold him and _feel_ how small Al was. Ed would probably be even worse. 

After awhile, Al’s breathing calmed, until it was almost silent in the dimly-lit room, and it struck Roy that he was asleep.

He should probably carry him up to bed, but Roy wasn’t sure he could extract himself without waking up Al. Besides, who was to say that the kid wouldn’t wake up from another nightmare? No, it would be better to wait until Al fell into a deeper sleep. That way Roy could move him with less of a risk of waking him.

At some point, Roy must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew, it was morning.

Al was still asleep against his side, but a blanket had been haphazardly tossed over them. From the kitchen he could hear movement, the sound of cereal being poured into a bowl. 

As carefully as Roy could manage, he detangled himself from Al’s grip. He put a throw pillow where his body had been and lowered Al carefully back onto it, then headed into the kitchen.

Ed sat at the table, a bowl of dry cereal on the table in front of him, They both stopped, looking at each other. Ed quickly picked up a spoon and shoved food into his mouth, raising one eyebrow before looking away altogether. Roy let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and went over to the coffee machine to flip it on. 

If Ed was content to pretend nothing happened, well, then, so was Roy.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about that unplanned hiatus! I had a serious case of writers block, and was just waiting for it to end so that I could get another chapter out for you all.
> 
> I hope y'all are ready for the appearance of a well loved character. Also yes, they eat german food. Fight me.
> 
> I created a spotify playlist for this series! Check it out here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3uzMynZQUue7gBMeqtVk8k?si=rWU43Y_uQbOT6Q5_9sJePg
> 
> As always, follow me on tumblr: https://isnt-it-pretty.tumblr.com/ or hit me up on discord, @ Canadeath#1368
> 
> And lastly, a special thank you to my lovely beta reader, aeoleus here on ao3, otherwise known as ta1k-less on tumblr. If you Ishvalan Ed & Al, you should really check out there page for their fic! Also if you enjoy Avatar the last Airbender.

If Roy was honest, he was surprised Hawkeye hadn’t found out about the boys sooner. They had been coming over with increasing regularity since he first encountered them five months previously, and  _ somehow _ it was still a secret. He didn’t doubt that his aunt knew, however. Even if Madam Christmas hadn’t reached out to him yet, it was unlikely that she wasn’t having his home watched.

It had taken him forgetting some important paperwork at work, on a Friday afternoon in mid-March, for that secret to come crashing down.

He’d been tired, an insomnia-induced migraine pounding away in his skull, and had gone home early. That didn’t mean, however, that some of the paperwork could wait until Monday. Truly, he  _ had _ meant to bring it home, he’d just forgotten it in his haste. 

The boys were already there when he arrived — Al going through his books on alchemy with an eagerness Roy hadn’t had in years. Ed was nearby, as per usual, but he was deep in a book about plants. Roy knew that it wasn’t one of his, but he wasn’t about to ask where Ed had gotten it.

Al looked up when Roy entered and smiled brightly. He was missing a tooth, which broke Roy’s heart a little. “You’re back early!”

He hummed in response, head pounding. “Migraine. I’m going to lay down. Wake me up if I haven’t come down by dinner.” It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the boys to cook for themselves, it was just that Ed was missing two limbs, and Al was easily distracted by things he enjoyed, so it was closer to having a healthy concern that they would burn his house down if left unattended with the stove.

Both boys muttered their agreement, with Ed eyeing him over his book. Roy didn’t stop to think about the look the older of them was giving him — instead climbed the stairs to his room and collapsed onto his bed without changing out of his uniform. He knew he’d come to regret that later, but just then, Roy couldn’t bring himself to care.

An unknown amount of time later, he awoke to a knock on his bedroom door. Roy blinked his eyes open and found a slightly blurry Al standing in his doorway, looking nervous. “Um, there’s somebody here,” he said, his hands fidgeting in the shirt he wore — one of the several Roy had bought him.

“Sorry?” Roy mumbled, still not quite awake enough to comprehend anything other than  _ sleep good, awake bad.  _

“At the door,” Al clarified. “Um. Somebody in uniform. A woman.” 

Shit, Hawkeye. 

He immediately sat up, taking in the state of his rumpled uniform. Yeah, he already regretted napping in it. Roy would have to iron it tonight, lest he be late for work tomorrow. “Okay, okay,” he told Al, scrubbing his hands over his eyes. “She’s blonde?” There was no way the boys hadn’t peaked through the thin drapes covering his front windows. 

Al nodded.

“She’s alright, don’t worry. I’ll be down in a moment.” 

He straightened his uniform as much as possible and headed toward the stairs. There was an impatient knock on the front door, loud enough to reverberate through the house. He must have really been out to not hear the ones that must have preceded it.

Climbing down the stairs, he took a deep breath. The boys were in the living room, pretending to be distracted by whatever they were doing. He considered for a moment whether he should tell them to hide, but he didn’t want them to think that he was ashamed of them, or that they should be afraid of Hawkeye. Besides, even if they did hide, it was unlikely he’d be able to keep them a secret for long. Hawkeye would be angrier to find out he lied to her, rather than simply omitting the truth. As it was, she was likely already unhappy with him.

He glanced through the peephole, just to ensure that it was indeed Hawkeye. She stood outside, back straight and uniform perfect, as expected. In her hands she held a pile of paperwork he suddenly recalled needed to be finished by Monday. With a resigned sigh, he opened the door.

“Sir,” Hawkeye said, her eyes glancing over him, quickly taking stock of his appearance. 

Roy narrowly avoided cringing. “Lieutenant,” he greeted, debating on whether or not to invite her inside. Would it be suspicious not to? God, maybe if he’d been able to sleep, his brain would be working better.

She raised her eyebrows, which was answer enough.

With some lingering reluctance, Roy stepped aside and allowed her into his home.

“You left some paperwork on your desk sir,” she told him, holding up the stack. “Usually I would be content to leave it until Monday, but these are time-sensitive.”

“I understand.” He replied, “Thank you lieutenant.” He reached for the paper and was about to make a hasty retreat when the sound of something falling came from the living room. 

She blinked at him a few times, head cocking towards the sound and Roy pulled out his most dazzling smile, even as he knew it would do nothing for her. “I have guests,” he explained, lest she think somebody was trying to break into his house. Or worse, that he had gotten a cat. Although he supposed he  _ did  _ pick up two strays. Ed was kind of like a feral cat, even on his best days.

“Guests,” Hawkeye repeated. Her voice was flat, and Roy knew her well enough to know she didn’t believe him.  _ Fair _ , he thought tiredly. He wasn’t the type to have people over, ever, unless it was Maes forcing himself into the apartment for an impromptu wellness check disguised as a “visit”, and especially not when he was too ill for work. It was something he was fine with people  _ believing _ he’d do, of course, but Hawkeye knew better.

“Yes,” he told her, hoping that the technical honesty bleeding into his tone would be enough to convince her. “They come by often.”

She definitely didn’t believe him. Roy sighed. He took the papers from her and walked away, passing the living room with a glance on his way to put them in his office.

Ed and Al looked at him wide-eyed and nervous and the pile of books they’d accumulated had been knocked over.

Hawkeye followed behind him, and Roy could tell the exact moment she saw the children. Her footsteps stopped, leaving the house in an eerie silence, considering there were four people in it. Turning back for a moment, he saw she was indeed standing in the doorway to the living room, gaping openly. It was unusual to see that expression on her face, and Roy took a moment to savour the surprise. He was half-worried that she’d already known about them and was only humouring him. Her reaction proved that to be untrue. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Roy couldn’t help but feel slightly vindicated that he was, indeed, capable of keeping a secret from the Hawk’s Eye. 

“Sir,” she said, turning to him slowly. Her eyes were almost comically wide. “Why do you have two children in your living room?” the words were said carefully, and Roy could read the underlying question easily.:  _ ‘Why do you have two  _ **_Ishvalan_ ** _ children in your living room?’ _

“Oh, those are the Ehrlich brothers,” Roy explained faux-casually, as though he wasn’t half-convinced his adjutant was about to pistol-whip him into next week.. It  _ was _ an accepted part of his life now, afterall. The boys being there was nothing special, just a casual reality. “They stay here sometimes. Al likes alchemy.”

She knew about the two kids he had found- Maes had told her- and judging by the way her gaze sharpened, she was recalling that specific incident as well. She didn’t look  _ unhappy _ about it, however; she was perhaps upset that he didn’t tell her, maybe, but not that the boys were there. He had long-since gotten used to deciphering her feelings based on minute details in her various glares. Instead, she just seemed confused by them, which he supposed was fair.

Roy looked into the living room and found both boys taut with tension, like a rubber band about to snap. He nodded to them, hoping it would help relax them, and turned back to Hawkeye. He motioned for her to follow him and headed toward his office.

Hawkeye followed, of course, and Roy closed the door behind her. He motioned to the double door that opened into the living room, and motioned for eavesdroppers. They’d long since been able to communicate silently — Maes, too, had that ability. Benefits of fighting a war together, he supposed, if it was possible to have any.

“They stay here when it’s cold, or when they’re hungry,” he said, taking a casual and conversational tone. It would be easier to show the boys that he didn’t mind people knowing about them, and wouldn’t let anybody dangerous be around them. Besides, he and Hawkeye could have an entire conversation based purely on body language. 

“And they know who you are?” Raised eyebrows, silently asking,  _ “and you’re okay with them knowing who you are?” _

“Yes,” he replied. “they’re good kids.” 

She was quiet for a moment, likely gathering her thoughts. 

“Does anybody know?”  _ “Have you told Maes?” _

“No, I haven’t gotten around to it.” He cringed, knowing she’ll pick up the silent meaning. He had been purposely avoiding telling Maes during their weekly phone calls. 

She looked like she wanted to say more, but he cut her off. “I’ve been dry, Hawkeye.” A way of saying he was sober. The boys probably wouldn’t know what they were talking about. Well, Al probably wouldn’t. Ed would at least put it together quickly, but that was okay.

Her eyes snapped to his when he said that, searching for a lie. He shrugged. “They’ve been coming for months now. No harm done.” A lot of good, in fact, not that he was willing to openly admit it. She had noticed that he was better-rested, recently, , he knew, so maybe this would explain why. 

“Okay,” she said, and Roy’s shoulders relaxed. He hadn’t realized how tense they were, but that agreement was more than just the statement. She was agreeing to their presence, agreeing that they were doing more good than harm. She’d still tell Maes, but she wouldn’t have anything bad to say. It would impact whatever Maes told him, but anything that made him drink less would probably be good in his best friend’s book.

“Thanks for the paperwork,” he said, and she nodded, glancing to the double door, before back at him, head tilting in another silent question.

He shrugged. Roy didn’t know how they’d react to meeting Hawkeye. He tilted his head, silently asking, and she nodded. That was enough for him. If Hawkeye wanted to meet them, he wouldn’t stop her. 

Roy left the office first, via the door to the hall, and Hawkeye followed. When they reached the living room a moment later, Ed and Al were lounging overly-casually in the spots they had left them in, looking far too focused on their books. He wasn’t about to call them out on it when they were already so tense. So, instead, Roy cleared his throat.

Two sets of eyes snapped toward him, one red, one gold.

He nodded at Hawkeye. “This is Lieutenant Hawkeye,” he introduced her. “she’s my second in command, and a friend of mine.” He would usually leave that part out. His relationship with Hawkeye was confusing to explain to people, so it was easier just to pretend they didn’t know one another outside work, but he didn’t think the boys would trust her if he didn’t vouch for her. That being said, he wasn’t sure they would anyway. Roy’s company wasn’t the best, after all. 

Ed’s eyebrows furrowed, and Roy knew he recognized the name. Hawkeye’s role in actively carrying out Order 3066 had been limited, or as limited as she could make it without drawing suspicion, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t killed civilians.

“You can call me Riza,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. Her arms were at her sides, leaving her open, and Roy noticed she had angled herself to seem smaller. It would hopefully help them not feel threatened, and Roy wished he had that awareness of himself when he had first met them, although he doubted that it would have helped. No amount of posturing would change what he had done to their people. 

Al’s hand tightened on his book, and he chewed at the inside of his mouth. Roy had long since gotten used to the boy’s tells. He was nervous.

“Alphaeus,” he said eventually, surprising everybody in the room. Even Ed shot a glance at him, although it wasn’t a glare. If Al wanted to give away his name, Ed didn’t have a right to tell him off for it. He could, however, decide not to share his own. Al moved so he was sitting up, but didn’t make a move to stand. Instead, he looked up at Hawkeye and smiled. “It’s, um, nice to meet you, Ms. Riza.” He eyed her uniform wearily though, the same way he did toward Roy’s.

“Ed,” was Ed’s response. He didn’t stand either, but for him it was more obvious why. Hawkeye quickly glanced at his missing limbs, and the crutch nearby, but her eyes didn’t linger. She’d seen such injuries — and worse — during their time in Ishval. Bodies decimated by Roy’s own flames, or torn apart by Kimblee’s explosions. Her own back was a mess of scar tissue from his own hand, although neither of them would dare put that on the same level as Ed’s injuries. After all, she had asked that of him. 

“I’m glad to meet you,” she told them. Her voice was soft, the kind of gentle she kept exclusively for comforting people. It wasn’t often Roy heard it, but it was the same soothing tone she used when talking him down from panic attacks. “I hope Roy hasn’t been too terrible to stay with,” she said. “I’ve heard he’s a  _ terrible _ roommate.”

Al smiled, albeit nervously. “He’s been good, actually. He gave us clothes and stuff.” He looked down, fiddling with the hem of the shirt, before his eyes brightened. “And he’s teaching me alchemy!”

“Is that so?” Hawkeye asked, smiling herself as she glanced at Roy pointedly. He shrugged. Once upon a time, he had told her that he would never teach alchemy — that he didn’t have the patience for brats who didn’t know the basics. He still stood by that. It just so happened that Al was a child prodigy with a solid understanding of the fundamentals. It’s still a bit lacking, but there was enough there that Roy didn’t have to sit him through a lecture on most of it. 

Hawkeye had enough of an understanding of alchemy to have an entire conversation with Al about it, though she wasn’t an alchemist herself. Her father was to blame for that, but Roy kept the feelings he had of his late master to himself. Al seemed happy to converse with somebody  _ other _ than Roy, even as Ed eyed Hawkeye wearily. It wasn’t a glare with open hostility, though, so Roy took that as a good sign.

She ended up staying for dinner and even offered to help cook, Which meant that they had something other than pasta, since Hawkeye was far better in the kitchen than him. It was yet another thing her father had forced upon her, along with his secrets. 

They cooked in comfortable silence, Hawkeye giving him an approving look when she eyed his empty alcohol cupboards. He huffed and went back to stirring the vegetables he was frying. Hawkeye was next to him, cooking some cured sausages he’d been keeping in his freezer for the day he had the energy to actually attempt to cook them. She did better than he could, seasoning them with horseradish and bay leaves.

He opened a can of sauerkraut as well, but doubted the boys would like it. It was something of an acquired taste, and Roy recalled despising it as a child. As it was, he still wasn’t a fan, but it tasted alright with sausages. 

When they were eating, Roy found that he was correct. Al made a face after trying it, but took another experimental bite. Ed smelled it, and that was enough for him to push it to the side of his plate with an angry glare. Roy struggled not to laugh, and judging by the raised eyebrows from Hawkeye and the glare from Ed, he didn’t  _ quite _ succeed.

Afterward, Hawkeye left with a meaningful look, and Roy knew to expect a call from Maes tomorrow, if not later that night. 

Ed relaxed a little after, but he, too, gave Roy a knowing, flat look that he took to mean Ed knew  _ exactly _ who Hawkeye was.

At least Maes’ connection to Ishval wasn’t widely known.l. Roy had to have  _ one _ friend who the boys could possibly connect to in a way that wasn’t tainted by the blood of their people or the destruction of their homeland. Roy imagined that if he ever got the chance to introduce them to Madam Christmas and his sisters, that the boys would be spoiled by people who knew very little of the conflict, outside of what they’d heard on the news. He wondered if Ed and Al would like that — being around people that weren’t really involved in either side of the conflict. At worst, they were an accessory through inaction and ignorance, the same as almost every other civilian. Roy held in a derisive snort. How terrible that  _ that _ was the bar being suitable acquaintances for the boys. 

It was a little past Nine PM when the phone rang. The boys were just getting ready for bed, although they all knew it would still be a couple hours until everybody was asleep. 

“Hello?” Roy answered, already suspecting who was on the other end. 

“So, I’ve heard Elicia has cousins,” Maes said in lieu of a greeting, and Roy almost choked. 

Elicia, Maes’ and Gracia’s baby girl, had been born a little over three weeks ago, and Maes had spent hours worrying on the phone with Roy when Gracia went into labour After Elicia had been born, all Roy had received was a quick call to let him know he was an uncle now. Maes had long since told him that Roy would have an important space in any of Maes’ children’s lives, whether he felt he deserved to or not.

If Roy was honest, he had no idea how to respond to that. “No?” he settled on eventually, letting confusion lace his tone.

“Oh really?” Maes asking, his voice half-teasing and half-serious. “Because Riza told me she met your kids.”

He sputtered before catching himself, and whispering loudly through the phone, “they’re not  _ mine. _ ”

“She said you have two Ishvalan boys reading your books.” Maes replied flatly. “You don’t let  _ me _ touch your books.”

“You aren’t an alchemist.”

Maes would also probably wreck them. For whatever reason, he trusted Al far more, but that did  _ not _ make them  _ his. _ In fact, Roy was pretty sure Ed would flip if he heard that, 

“Uh-uh,” he said, “sure. Whatever you say, Roy.” The sarcasm was evident, but Maes changed topics before Roy could continue to refute him. “She said you quit drinking too,” 

“Does it matter?” Roy replied, feeling somewhat awkward with the course of conversation. He didn’t  _ do _ serious, not unless he had to. That was the whole point behind his stupid skirt-chasing persona.

“Roy,” Maes said flatly. 

Roy sighed, pressing his head against the wall.“I did,” he answered quietly. “But it isn’t a big deal.”

Maes was silent for a moment, and Roy could imagine his friend chewing on his lip as he decided what to say. 

“Have you thought about what this will do to your career if people find out?” he eventually asked. “We can find a way to spin it, but we should discuss that before it happens.”

He wasn’t telling Roy to kick them out, and Roy hated the relief he felt. He wasn’t sure what he would have done had his friend told him it would be better if he turned the boys away. Roy knew it was true. It could ruin him if people found out, even though Order 3066 was no longer in effect. If it came out that he’d been aiding and abetting children from the very place he’d been ordered to exterminate, nobody would ever trust him with powerful decisions, let alone promote him. But why bother going through all the effort to become Fuhrer if he couldn’t help people along the way?

“I know,” was all he responded with.

“Bring them when you come to meet Elicia?” Maes asked, “if they’re willing. We have enough space.” That was true. Maes and Gracia had bought an apartment in Central big enough to raise a family. 

Somewhere upstairs, Al laughed loudly, and Roy smiled. “I’ll ask. We’ll see.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I meant to post this last week but then somebody died, so I've been a bit busy. Hopefully my motivation to do literally anything will return so that I can work on the next, and final, chapter of this work, but I'm not really sure when that will be.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, its been a struggle to try and balance Roy as somebody who wants to do good, but has also willing participated in mass genocide, along with Ed trying to deal with the knowledge if that. Hopefully I did a decent job at it! Thank you so much for all your support <3
> 
> TW for self hatred, mentioned suicide, genocide, etc. Tbh if you've made it this far you already know what's in here.
> 
> Follow me on [ Tumblr! ](https://isnt-it-pretty.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And thank you to my lovely beta, Aeoleus!

Roy awoke to the sound of gently pattering rain, the last dredges of his nightmare still clinging to him like an animal with its claws sunk in. He shuddered at the memory of heat and flames, the acrid scent of burning flesh.  _ At least he hadn’t vomited yet _ , Roy thought. That was something, right? 

The rain was calming, grounding even. It never rained in Ishval. There was never any relief to the day’s arid heat, or the night’s freezing winds. Roy distinctly remembered the uncomfortable temperatures, and he focused on that rather than the nausea that was building inside him. 

Rain was common enough outside of Ishval. It was a sign that East City’s short spring would soon transition into the long hot summer Roy would have to grow accustomed to. This time last year, he was only just arriving back in Central from Ishval, and had yet to be reassigned to East City. It was hard to believe that a year had passed since the end of the war — it already seemed like a lifetime ago. Maes was married, had a  _ baby, _ and Roy? He had two Ishvalan kids sleeping in his guest room.

Roy ran a hand through his messy hair and sighed. Glancing at the clock, barely illuminated by the streetlights outside, Roy groaned. It was only a little past 2 AM . If he didn’t get  _ some _ sleep tonight, he’d be useless at work tomorrow. Hawkeye would probably shoot him if he fell asleep at his desk again. There was no use laying in his bed though. If he did somehow manage to fall asleep, it was likely he’d have another nightmare.

Reluctantly, he stood. His hand tremored, and Roy busied himself with throwing a house robe on top of his pajamas. If he kept himself occupied, he wouldn’t have to focus on how his breath was a tad too quick, or the way his legs shook. 

He long since had learned which spots on the floor would creak, and avoided them on his way out of his room. No point in waking up the boys — Ed in particular could be an extremely light sleeper, prone to bouts of insomnia. Not that he had admitted any of that to Roy, of course, it was just that Roy was more observant than most people bothered to give him credit for. If Roy had a bad night previously, Ed tended to be more tired and snappy in the morning. He also heard Ed tossing and turning most nights. If Roy had to guess, he’d say nightmares. It was definitely something he could empathize with.

The stairs were trickier to navigate without making any noise, but Roy managed it. He’d go downstairs and read for a half-hour. With any luck, his brain would calm down enough that he’d be able to catch another couple hours of sleep before his alarm went off at five. 

Roy stopped at the base of the stairs.. The light in the sitting room was on, filling the hallway with a gentle glow. Had he forgotten to turn it off? He frowned and headed toward the room, being less careful with his footsteps now that he was on the bottom floor. If it did creak, it wouldn’t be as loud, and was far less likely to wake up the boys. 

The scene in the sitting room made him freeze.

Ed was laying on the floor. A throw pillow (that Hawkeye had bought) had been placed on the ground, likely in an attempt to make laying on his stomach more comfortable. In front of him sat an open book, which Roy recognized immediately. It was one of the alchemy books Al had been working through the last couple weeks. Somewhere in the back of Roy’s mind, he realized that this was the first time he’d seen Ed with his hair down, but he barely registered that thought in the face of  _ Ed _ reading about  _ alchemy. _

Roy shifted his weight a little, and the floor creaked.

Ed looked up sharply, his eyes wide, and Roy did his best to act nonchalant. The last thing he wanted to do was scare Ed away from what he seemed to be enjoying, even if he was doing it in secret. 

“Can’t sleep either?” Roy asked instead of addressing the frantic way Ed stared at him, his eyes tinged with something Roy thought may have been guilt. Without waiting for a response, Roy stepped carefully into the room. He took the widest route around Ed to the sofa and picked up the book he had discarded earlier that evening. It was some mindless fiction novel, but it served its purpose as a way to wind down after work. Or nightmares, it seemed.

Swallowing in what Roy assumed was nerves, Ed nodded. He had followed Roy’s movements out of the peripheral of his vision, and his entire body was taut, like a band about to snap. He was scared. Of what, Roy couldn’t be sure. Perhaps of what would happen if somebody knew he was interested in alchemy?

Part of Roy wanted to offer to answer any questions, but he held his tongue. If anything, drawing attention to what Ed was doing would be a sure way to ascertain that the kid never did it again. Instead, Roy tried his best to smile, although he thought it probably came out closer to a grimace. 

“Do you mind if I join you in reading?” He held up his own book. Hopefully it would reassure Ed that he hadn’t done anything wrong.

It seemed to have the desired effect, judging by the way Ed seemed to relax — if only a little. The kid was constantly on edge, a gun with the safety flicked off. Roy understood the feeling.

Roy silently settled onto the sofa next to the lamp. In the low glow of the lamp, it was easy to make out the words. That was another difference between here and Ishval. There, electricity was rationed and only used by the highest-ranking officers and those on duty. When the sun went down, there would be no light for reading. 

Roy didn’t focus on the words, just let them flow over him without trying to really comprehend. . He didn’t have to in order to calm down. Besides, the book wasn’t all that good anyway.

Finding Ed down here was a pleasant surprise. Roy hated sitting alone at times like this, and despite how much of a spitfire Ed could be (and usually was), there was something nice about the quiet companionship. . 

Ed shifted, and the grey cardigan he wore slipped down, revealing the white tank top he had worn to bed.

Roy was sitting to Ed’s left, meaning the shoulder he saw wasn’t attached to a limb. Instead, it was a mere stump.It was the first time Roy had seen Ed’s shoulder. The kid kept it carefully covered at every possible moment, and looking at it, Roy could understand why. The scarring, however, Roy was  _ intimately _ familiar with. If there was one thing Roy had learned during his time in Ishval, it was the appearance of scars, and what they signified. Some were from bullet wounds from opposing forces; some were from acid that the Ishvalans managed to throw on the Amestrian army. 

Most of the scars he saw, though, were burns. 

Often, there wasn’t a chance for the burns to heal enough to scar, before its bearer was thrown into a mass grave, but occasionally, an Amestrian would wander too close to Roy’s designated area, and friendly fire would become a literal reality. Sometimes, he saw the result of his work painted across their enemies, in various states of healing, like some macabre Xerxian portrait. That was always the worst.

Seeing it on Ed though? Seeing scarred-over burns, the kind that would have blackened flesh and cracked bone, that would have been bad enough to have led to  _ amputation.  _ Roy was going to vomit. Ed,  _ his Ed, _ and he had done this.  _ Roy _ had been the one to harm him, the one to take his limbs and his family and his country. 

What could Roy say to him upon seeing that? What was there to tell him? That he was  _ sorry?  _ What good could that do? Roy couldn’t undo the pain he’d caused.

At some point, Ed must have caught onto the  _ minor _ panic attack Roy was having if the way he yanked his cardigan up was any indication. They fell into an awkward silence, with Roy desperately trying to calm his breathing and Ed attempting to pretend he didn’t know what was happening. At the very least, Roy had gotten  _ very _ good at having panic attacks silently — it wouldn’t do any good to get caught having one at work. 

Roy was absolutely going to vomit.

“It wasn’t you, you know,” Ed said eventually. 

Roy snapped his eyes up. Ed stared at the book in front of him with such intensity that he seemed to be trying to set it on fire through sheer force of will. He tugged at a loose handful of hair in what Roy thought may have been a nervous habit. It was hard to tell when Ed’s hair was so often in a braid. 

It took an embarrassingly long time for Roy to process the words, as his brain split itself in half trying to work him up and calm him down simultaneously. 

“What?” Roy asked, his throat dry as the desert he soaked in blood and ash.

“It wasn’t you,” Ed repeated, “who did this.” He motioned vaguely toward his missing arm, but didn’t look away from the book that Roy highly doubted he was reading. “People always ask when they see, but it wasn’t you. So you can like, calm down, or whatever?”

“I-” Roy started. “Who?”

He didn’t know why he asked. Maybe he needed some way to assuage his guilty conscience. Maybe he was just desperate to make sure that Ed wasn’t lying, that Roy  _ hadn’t _ maimed the kid he would do anything for. 

Oh, shit. 

He really would do anything for Ed and Al, wouldn’t he? Now was  _ really _ not the time for that particular crsis, considering he was already occupied over a different one. He could panic about just how important Ed and Al are to him later. Preferably alone, and with alcohol. It’d been months since his last drink after all, and it was times like these that Roy wondered why the hell he’d ever stopped.

“The Crimson Alchemist,” Ed said, and Roy couldn’t find it in him to be surprised. 

Kimblee was a monster, through and through. He was the only one with a higher kill count than Roy, which meant something, considering Roy’s fire spread quicker and easier than Kimblee’s blasts. 

“It was the same time I lost my leg,” Ed continued, likely unaware of Roy’s burning hatred for the man he was speaking of. “We were running, and he was there. I don’t remember much, just diving to cover Al-” he shook his head, but Roy could see the way his right hand tensed against the pillow it was holding. “Something must have caught a spark, but what matters is that it wasn’t you.”

There wasn’t a lot to say to that. Roy took a moment to breathe deeply, counting as he did so in the way Maes had taught him all those months ago, in a hell made of sand and nightmares. 

“Thank you,” he told Ed, trying his best to keep his voice even. Roy wasn’t sure he succeeded in that feat, but at least he put in the effort. “I--” he breathed again. “While it may not have been me who did this to you, I still did it to others. I have to take responsibility for that.”

Ed groaned. He pushed himself onto his back and glared full-force at Roy. “Do you have any idea how hard this is?” he snapped. “How- How difficult it is to reconcile this, _you_ — the only person in this Ishvala-forsaken country who has _ever_ cared about me and Al — with the monster who destroyed our home? How am I supposed to do that? How am I supposed to look at you, who doesn’t sleep at night and drinks too much and has panic attacks, and accept that you’re some heartless killer? The dichotomy is driving me _insane!_ ”

Roy wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that, but Ed was red faced, like he’d been waiting a long time to say that. 

“Bad people can still do good things Ed, but that doesn’t  _ make _ them good,” he eventually settled on, because if anything, he thinks Ed will understand that. He hopes he can make Ed understand that Roy being kind to him doesn’t undo atrocities he’s committed. Helping two children cannot make up for the hundreds he slaughtered with the snap of his fingers. 

“And sometimes good people do bad things, that doesn’t  _ make _ them bad,” Ed countered. “it doesn’t seem so black and white. There’s room for grey, for  duality. ”

There were times when Ed spoke that Roy could almost forget he was a kid. Speaking like that — about reconciling evil and kindness, about dichotomy and duality — is one of those times, but Roy will never let himself fully forget. He will never look at Ed and see anything but what he is: a war-torn child. An orphan. A boy maimed by the very war Roy perpetrated. A boy taken apart by Amestris, who put himself back together. 

Roy joined the military to help people, and look at what he’s done instead. 

“Good people don’t massacre  _ children, _ Ed. They don’t leave behind bloodbaths in their wake.” He breathed carefully, trying to fight off a panic attack. “Good people don’t wipe towns from the map, and butcher anybody who tries to escape.” 

He thought of Armstrong, of the rest of the alchemists sent home for the same reason, of the string of suicides following the war. There were better people out there than him. 

“And bad people don’t feel guilty about it.”

They reached a stalemate, and it seemed neither was willing to back down. There had to be some way to make Ed understand that Roy was a  _ war criminal, _ that it didn’t matter what his intentions were, that it didn;t matter if it was ordered, or if he regretted it, he still  _ did it. _ He still burned homes to the ground, still left cinders in his wake. The name _ Flame Alchemist  _ still struck fear into the heart of every Ishvalan. There was no possible way he could excuse what he had done. It wouldn’t matter if every single Ishvalan forgave him. He’d still spend the rest of his life trying to make up for it, and never even get close. He has to  _ try, _ though. 

Eventually, Roy let out a breath. There wasn’t a point in fighting. Ed had been through enough already. if he wanted to believe Roy was good, then whatever. It was sad that just showing the boys basic human decency was enough to convince them that he was somehow a good person, but arguing would get them nowhere. 

Again, Ed tugged on his hair, but it seemed more forceful. 

“Your hair okay?” Roy asked.

“Huh?” Ed asked, flicking his eyes toward Roy. “Oh. It's just annoying me. The braid came undone in the night and I can’t really fix it.” He held out his singular arm. “Al will help in the morning,” Ed shrugged, still laying on the floor.

Roy sighed, and moved to sit on the edge of the sofa. “Come here,” he patted the spot in front of him. “I’ll do it.”

Ed looked dubious, and shied away a little. “Can you even braid? No offense, but I don’t have a lot of faith in some guy who’s probably losing his hair.”

Roy raised his eyebrows in response, not rising to the bait. If Roy was honest, he was  _ exhausted _ now. Talking about Ishval had a tendency to drain every last scrap of his energy. “Firstly, I’m hardly losing my hair. And secondly, yes, I can braid.”

Ed still looked like he didn’t trust him, but he did push himself up a little and make his way over to Roy. It was sad to see the way Ed moved across the ground in a mix of crawling and dragging. Roy wished there was something he could do to help, but there was no way Ed would accept any help. 

“If you pull my hair, you’re dead to me.”

Roy started detangling the blonde hair with his fingers. Ed’s hairbrush was still upstairs, but the leather strap he used to finish the braid was around Ed’s wrist. 

“This okay?” Roy asked as he carefully worked through the knots that had appeared overnight. It seemed that Roy was correct in assuming that Ed was a restless sleeper, if the state of his hair was anything to go by. 

“Mhmm,” Ed mumbled. He’d pulled the alchemy book with him, and was reading through it as Roy combed through his hair.

It was after a few minutes that Roy realized Ed’s breathing had calmed considerably. Roy found that he, too, was less tense. 

He separated the hair into three sections, and started braiding them carefully. If he was met with a knot, he transferred all of the strands to one hand, and combed it through with his other.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” Ed asked, his voice seemed placid.

“I grew up with sisters,” Roy answered, rather than explain his childhood in elaborate detail. It wasn’t exactly a lie, either. Madam Christmas’ girls really were his sisters in all but blood, even if a lot of the ones he’d grown up with had passed away or moved on. “I’d help them with their hair all the time.” They’d taught him to braid when he was little, and wanted to take part in getting ready with the girls. They’d laughed with him and showed him how to braid and apply glitter. 

“You have sisters?”

“Several,” was the only answer Roy bothered to give. He was still close to a lot of them, even after they’d left, and he cared deeply for the newer girls Madam had hired, but it wasn’t the same. Only a couple that he grew up with still worked there, and Madam Christmas had them behind the bar, rather than working the floor for clients. 

“You’re good at this,” Ed muttered as Roy stopped to comb out another tangle.

It was nice to be doing something so mundane. "Thanks." 

Eventually, Roy managed to braid all the pieces back into their places. It was a little tighter and cleaner than how Ed usually wore it, but Roy assumed that had more to do with Al's unsteady hands rather than Ed's preference.

"There you go, kid," he leaned back, but Ed didn't move. It was only then that Roy realized Ed was leaning against his leg, and that his breathing was a steady rhythm. He'd fallen asleep. 

Roy looked at the boy in front of him, small and covered in burns. He felt a little out of his depth. Al had fallen asleep in the room before, but never Ed. 

Carefully, Roy shifted. When Ed didn't move, he reached down and placed one arm against Ed's shoulder blades, and another under his singular knee-- he let that hand brace against Ed's hip, so that the boy wouldn't topple over. Then, he stood. 

Even after months of feeding them, Ed was still so skinny. At least the boys had stopped hiding food, now comfortable that Roy wouldn't take it from them. 

The walk upstairs was easier than Roy thought it'd be. Ed seemed to be dead to the world, and Roy wondered how long it'd been since he had gotten a full night of rest. The blankets were still pulled back from when Ed had gotten up, and Al was curled onto his side with his arms held close to his body. He really needed to get two twin beds in there, rather than a queen, but the boys hadn't complained. Roy assumed they liked being close to one another, in case the other needed comfort. Based on what Roy had seen, however, both boys were remiss to wake up their brother, even if they needed to.

Roy put Ed down as gently as possible, and let out a relieved breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. If Ed had woken up while being carried, it probably wouldn't have ended well.

"Hmm?" Came a sound from the other end of the bed, and Roy looked to see Al, propped up on his elbow,rubbing at his eyes. 

"Just me, Al," he whispered. "go back to sleep."

"Hm, 'kay," Al muttered, reaching over to cuddle into Ed's side. "’Night, Roy."

Roy smiled, and found himself reaching toward Al, who was already asleep again. He brushed a strand of hair out of the boy's face. "Night Al."

He really would do anything for these boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ed has secretly been reading alchemy books for weeks now. Roy just doesn't bring it up.
> 
> I debated on having Roy be the one at fault for Ed's arm, but decided I liked Kimblee behind it more.


End file.
